


Pretty Hurts

by Rein



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Culture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Body Horror, Castration, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Langst, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Human Genitalia, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Torture, Self-Harm, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-12 15:29:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13550226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rein/pseuds/Rein
Summary: Lance has a higher purpose than wastefully acting as a Paladin of Voltron. He doesn’t know this but The Dollmaker is here to guide him.





	1. Well Shit

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Pretty Hurts by beyonce while scrolling through [Hardlynotever's](https://hardlynotnever.tumblr.com/) tumblr cause I am Weak 
> 
> apparently that's a bad combination, i love them lots for sharing their damned beautiful art of homeboy lance crying in various situations, especially that dollmaker doodle, which inspired this 
> 
> I'm sorry, Lance. I love you, I swear...
> 
> I just also happen to love you with Angst so there's that...

It was supposed to be a simple mission.

He was with his team, heading towards a planet recently freed from galra control to help them get back on their feet and their sense of independence. They would land, the castle would park it, and there would be talks with Shiro, Allura, and Coran. Lance usually explored the local village, Hunk always sniffed out the local food and produces in search of not green goo recipes, Pidge latched onto any new technology she found, and Keith did whatever Keiths’ do. Pout or something while cleaning his blade.

Typical routine mission they had done dozens of times before. Lance could have done it blindfold.

But when they were a few vargas away from the planet, the castle’s alarm blared and when they saw a few unmarked fleets chasing after the castle, Lance had scoffed,

“We don’t even need the full team for this.”

Lance, Shiro, and Keith headed out on their lions. There was only 7 small ships, the three of them would be enough.

What they didn’t expect was a massive, gnarled and blackened ship, practically the size of the castle, materialize as soon as the three disposed of the small ships.

There was a pregnant pause as the three looked up at this looming ship, Blue growling in his mind as Lance said, “Well, shit…”

Hell broke loose as more ships came flying out of the massive one. The castle raised its barrier and Pidge and Hunk were scrambling to get to their lions. Shiro and Keith started taking out ships.

“Lance, move!” Keith shouted in his ear and Blue dodged out the way of a blast as Lance snapped out of it.

What started out as a small skirmish turned into a full fledged battle between the Lions and Allura with her castleship, against an equally massive enemy ship.

Somehow, Lance got separated from the rest and that’s when shit really hit the fan.

The smaller ships were easy to destroy but it was giving the others a hard time thanks to their sheer numbers. Allura couldn’t aim her cannons at them without putting the lions and paladins at risk, and the enemy’s massive ship had raised its own barrier. Separated from the rest, the ships kept attacking Lance over and over, red alarms blaring in his face as Blue took on damage.

“Lance, you need to move! There’s a missile heading your way!” Shiro’s commanding voice sounded a little bit desperate as Lance looked on his screen to see, yes, that was a missile heading his way.

“I’m surrounded by these stupid ships! They keep pining me in place!” Lance attacked but for each one destroyed, another ship immediately took its place. He could hear his teammates struggling and yelling, trying to fight their way to him.

There was a massive roar, and he looked to see Hunk barreling his way through the ships as if they were nothing. Lance smiled, relief swelling before a massive explosion shook Blue and the last thing Lance heard was Hunk’s outraged cry before he blacked out.

 

* * *

 

He woke up in a small, oddly decorated cell (no matter how pretty they dressed it up, a cell was a cell), on a lush bed. He was stripped of his body suit, which was new and probably a little odd. He did have a cuff around his right ankle, which probably wasn’t good.

Lance didn’t have long to see if he could escape it when a whoosh of air caught his attention. A door, that slid into the wall, opened and he came face to face with his captor; a slim alien that resembled a faceless four armed mannequin. It wore a heavy black cloak, trimmed with gold and in its first pair of arms, it carried a tray of clothes. In its second pair, it carried a tray of what looked like food. Rings and jewels decorated his wrist and ankles, most of the gems complimenting its light red hue skin.

The alien bowed deeply, much to Lance’s confusion as it set the trays on a table near the bed and left without a word.

“H-hey, wait!” Lance ran, then ended up flat on his face as a glowing rope on his ankle cuff became taunt, preventing him from reaching the door.

He was flat on the floor, in a weird cell, naked as the day he was born. His dignity was taking a hard hit.

The good news, his team was probably out ready to rescue him. The bad news, Lance didn’t think he could ever live down the amount of _teasing_ from Keith he would get for being found buck ass naked.

Getting to his feet, Lance grabbed the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around his body, anything to save what dignity he had left. Comfortably covered up, Lance went to work figuring out what type of space rope was chaining him to the bed. He could reach any corner of the bed well enough but the rope became taunt two feet away from the bed on all sides.

“Well, at least the bed is soft,” Lance sighed, sitting on the edge next to the table with the trays. “Might as well see what the quiznack they gave me.”

He held out the outfit from the tray and really considered if what he held could be called an outfit. It was more straps of cloth than actual clothing, leaving much of his chest and thighs, and _a lot of Lance_ exposed. He tossed it aside, eyed the tray of food, and kicked it away. Would he regret it later? Probably but right now he was more than a little pissed off.

“Listen here, jerk!” Lance shouted at the ceiling, “Whatever it is you want, I'm A) not doing it, B) definitely not doing it, and C) NOT GONNA DO IT. So, if we can both agree on this and you let me go, I think we’ll both be happier in the end.”

No one responded, which Lance figured as much but a cell this fancy probably had cameras and was recording sound at least. He shuffled back on the bed, pulling his knees up to rest his head on top of them, arms wrapping around his legs.

“Just you wait till my team comes for me,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes trained on where the door was.

 

* * *

 

It was a hour later, probably, he couldn't tell without any windows or clock, when he heard the whoosh of air as the door slide into the wall. In the time he was left alone, Lance had managed to shove the bed towards a corner and huddled against the corner of the walls on top of the bed.

The same alien as before walked in, 4 armed, carrying two trays again. The first tray held clothes and the second tray held food. Lance eyed them wearily as they bowed to him, set the trays on the table, and went about cleaning up the thrown food and discarded scraps of cloth that passed as clothes.

They didn't make any attempt to talk to Lance or step close to him. Lance hummed, eyeing the tray with the clothes. Once done, they bowed once again and left, leaving Lance alone again.

With a sigh, Lance inched closer to the edge of the bed. Ignoring the food, he eyed the tray of clothes. It looked whole enough so, cautiously, he held it up. Instead of straps, it was a full body suit...completely sheer. With an open back. There was no semblance of modesty in this one. Everything would have been… exposed. Nothing left for the imagination. There were gold jewelry as well on the tray, probably meant to compliment the disaster he was glaring at.

“Whatever it is you want, it's not happening!” He yelled, crumpling the outfit into a ball.

No one answered him.

Lance let out a frustrating sigh, shuffling back until he was at the corner again, pulling up his knees against his chest to wrap his arms around his leg again.

The gifts kept coming every other hour. It was always the same alien who brought the trays in and cleared away the old gifts. After the third time, where the outfit in question was mostly held together by _strings_ , he stopped checking all together. It was pointless and the bed sheet made better cover up than whatever his would-be captor was offering him to wear.

He didn't bother with the food. First rule of kidnapping, never trust the food. He could hold out until his team came from him.

When they came for him…

“No! Bad Lance, let's not go down that path yet…,” pulling his arms tighter around his legs, cheeks resting against his knees, he waited.

Like clockwork, they would come in again. Lance stayed in his corner of the bed, watching as they took the old trays and brought in new ones, always bowing to him. He was getting used to the routine, enough so that he started to get sleepy.

The last couple times when he heard the whoosh of the door sliding open, he barely gave them his attention, only struggling to keep his eyes open enough to watch and wait for them to leave.

Lance was ready to sleep through this visit when he heard garbled speak accompanying the sound of the door opening.

That was new… and probably not good.

Next to the familiar alien, another, much taller alien stepped into the cell. This one wore a black robe, the same gold trimmed robe but with more elegant patterns. It had three pair of arms, long clawed fingers covered in rings and gold standing out against his white skin. Unlike the other one, this one had a strange skull for a head. It looked like a bird’s skull, with large jagged teeth and gnarled horns affixed it's head. Jewels and chains decorated those horns, lightly jingling as they turned to look at Lance.

Within it's hollow pitch black eye sockets, what were likely eyes, glowed white and Lance felt his heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach.

He really hoped his team was on the way. Now would be a great time for them to bust a wall down, bayards blazing. The soundtrack to Kill Bill playing as they kicked ass.

When they spoke, his voice seemed to come from everywhere.

“Do your gifts dissatisfy you?”

“Don’t really need your gifts,” Lance said, grateful that he managed to keep his voice from wavering. “I want out of this place and the clothes you took off me, please and thanks.”

The alien hummed in thought, glowy eyes trained on him. “And where will you go?”

Lance stared at them, a sense of horror crawling over his skin, “What is that suppose to mean?” They glided closer to the edge of the bed. Lance fought the urge to look away, opting to glare at them.

“Lance Mcclain, blue paladin of Voltron, I found you floating in space, wounded and alone. I took you in and healed your wounds. I do not  know where your lion is nor do I care for Voltron. You, however, are a different matter. Rather than wasting your potential and putting yourself in harm, I am keeping you.”

“Excuse me?” Lance felt something like anger rise to his skin. “Listen, I appreciate the help but I’m not letting you keep me here. If you could point me to my clothes and towards the general direction of where Volton is, I-”

“ _Silent.”_

The words died in his throat, the deep weight of their voice inexplicably forcing him quiet. Lance shuddered, fear mixing into the defiant look he held in his eyes as the skull faced alien leaned over the bed and grabbed his wrist, pulling him close.

Lance fought. He tried to scrambled away and pull his hands free but they had a clear height advantage over him, looming three feet taller than him. He couldn’t shout or scream, whatever power he used to keep Lance silent was preventing him from speaking. And with all his pulling, the alien barely budged, hauling Lance up to his feet. While the first pair of arms held his hands above his head, the second pair disrobed him of his makeshift toga he had crafted out of the bedsheets.

“ _Stop resisting,_ ” and with another command, Lance stopped struggling. His heart pounded in his chest, screaming at his body to move, fight, struggle goddamnit!

But his body didn’t listen.

They gently cupped his face, tilting his head side to side with their second pair of arms. Cold fingers traced his ears, a hand running through his hair and Lance wanted to bite them off. The third pair of arms were going over his arms, the cold jewelry brushing against his skin. They touched everywhere, examining his waist and legs, silent and methodical in their movements.

Lance felt anger and humiliation boil in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t move! In his mind, he was shouting, almost begging for any of his limbs to react. _Move, please! Dammit! Why can’t I fucking move!!_

He was silent and still, completely under the whim of his true captor. Lance had felt fear before. Fighting against the galra empire meant missions always held a certain risk. A teammate might get injured, something goes awry, or, at the worst possibility, they might lose someone. Not everyone can be saved. It was a bitter fact, but nothing was ever certain.

This was a whole new kind of fear. A fear that slipped past his skin and blood. It seeped into his bones, settling within the marrow. The only sliver of comfort Lance felt was the rapid beating of his heart, his lungs taking in shallow breath, and the tears that welled in his eyes that told him he wasn’t completely paralyzed.

“I am the Dollmaker. Your being is mine. Now, back to my original question, did my gifts dissatisfy you?”

The weight that forced Lance immobile wasn’t there. He was free to speak. Weighing his options, Lance glared at the Dollmaker.

And spat in its face.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the other alien rear back, and if it had face features, the look of shock would probably be etched all over it.

“Very well, I am patient,” the Dollmaker dropped Lance on to the bed and Lance quickly shuffled back into the corner, as futile as that was, he needed space away from him. “You are not the first doll I have found that has fought back. I will come back later. In the meanwhile, at least eat the food. I can not have you starving yourself in rebellion. If you do not eat, you will be force fed.”

With that, the Dollmaker left and Lance was alone with the other alien. It took away the tray of clothes and left only the tray of food. With a bow, it left and Lance was alone again.

Giving himself a few seconds, Lance stared at the tray, hands running over his arms, confirming that he could move them, could feel his legs tense and flex with his thoughts again. He whispered the alphabet to himself, tension easing from his shoulders with each spoken letter.

Suddenly exhausted, Lance shuffled back into his corner, wrapping the bed sheet over his body, huddled up with the now steady presence of fear and uncertainty pulling him into a restless sleep.


	2. Bond

Lance lost count of how many days had passed since his capture.

Other than their first appearance, the Dollmaker hadn’t come by his cell. Instead, the other one, the four armed alien, came to drop of his food about twice a day. The rest of the time he was left on his own with his thoughts or he slept. Occasionally he shouted at the walls. First out of frustration then out of a sense of need to hear his own voice to break the heavy silence of the cell.

He was in the middle of tracing shapes with his eyes on the ceiling when he heard the familiar sound of the door opening. He sat upright, smiling when he saw the smaller alien.

“Quinn! Is it breakfast, lunch, or dinner yet?”

Lance had taken to calling them Quinn. He talked to them whenever they came in, chatting away despite the fact that Quinn didn’t talk back. Quinn stepped in and Lance noticed that they weren’t carrying the usual tray of food. A bit more alert now, Lance slowly shuffled back into the corner.

Behind Quinn, another similar alien followed. The only difference was the color of their skin; a pale blue. They both bowed to Lance and Quinn stepped forward.

“Dollmaker requests.”

Lance paled a little. Whatever the Dollmaker did that rendered him immobile and speechless still left him terrified. If it meant not having to experience that, Lance was more than happy staying in his little cell. But if he fought, that was a guarantee that he would do his weird jedi mind tricks again.

Quinn walked over to Lance, reaching over the bed to wrap their long, elegant fingers around his wrist. Lance tensed, ready to pull away when Quinn spoke, “Please do not fight. Resisting will not end well for Lance.”

Maybe Lance was projecting his own sadness on to Quinn, it was hard to read a person with no face, but Lance listened, letting Quinn gently guide him off the bed. He tugged the bedsheet closer to him them stepped back when the other alien tried to reach for it.

“Not happening, hands off.”

Quinn chirped at the other alien and that made them stop, holding onto Lance’s other wrist. Lance eyed them suspiciously, inching closer to Quinn but didn’t fight. With Lance secured in their hands, Quinn knelt down and touched the cuff on his ankle. There was a beep and the cuff came off.

For the first time since he was brought here, he was finally out of the cell. It was too early to tell if it was a good or bad thing, most definitely bad, but it was an improvement. If he could figure out the layout of the ship, find where the escape pods were, then he had a chance of getting away. Lance looked around to see if there was anything that could help him figure out where he was. He didn’t see any of the galra emblem so that was good.

Probably.

The hallway they walked through was pretty bare, except for the occasional light and other passing mannequin looking aliens. They bowed to Lance as he passed and his curiosity got the better of him.

“Hey, Quinn, is it okay if i call you Quinn? I don’t know your name so Quinn it is unless you have a name you prefer,” Lance didn’t wait for a responce as he moved on. Quinn “Why do you guys bow to me? Not that I particularly mind, I mean I wish it was under better circumstances, but it’s odd.”

Quinn looked straight ahead, seemingly ignoring his question. Lance sighed. Well, that was a familiar feeling at least.

“No name, Quinn is good,” Quinn looked ahead but they spoke. “Lance is Dollmaker treasure. Treasure is to be respected.”

Lance kind of wanted to cry. This was the most Quinn had talked! “See, I beg to differ. I’m definitely not that weirdo's treasure. And if anyone should be bowed to, that’s Blue. She’s the special one. I’m just Lance.”  

Quinn turned to look at Lance’s and they shook their head, “Dollmaker only choose the best. He searches and finds the best. Dollmaker search and found Lance. Lance is best.”

“Wait, searched? So that attack...” It wasn’t an attack on the castle itself. Or Voltron. It was him? Lance stayed quiet as they walked, recalling the attack. Thinking back on it, it was odd that the ships were insistently after him, separating Lance from the others. So, that was deliberate?

Lance frowned, recalling the words the Dollmaker said the other day.

_I have no interest in Voltron._

Fuck.

Where ever he was, it was definitely away from where Voltron and his friends were. And the distance was getting longer and longer the more he was trapped here.

_Dammit, dammit, dammit!_

He couldn’t depend on his team finding him. The Dollmaker was most likely flying in the opposite direction of where Voltron was. Or was going through lengths to avoid detection and possible sightings. Lance had no doubt that his firends were looking for him. He also knew they wouldn’t give up fighting the empire just to find him. No matter what, stopping Zarkon was vastly more important than himself.

For now, he had to assume he was on his own. And that meant surviving by any means until he could escape.

“Lance.”

Lance looked up from his thoughts, seeing the Dollmaker standing before an open door.

“Dickhead,” he greeted in return. Inside he screamed. Apparently his mind didn’t get the memo.

Quinn and the other one guided Lance past the Dollmaker. Inside he found himself in a sterile white room. An operating table stood at the back, all sorts of medical monitors beside it. There were equipment neatly laid out beside the table, none of which looked good.

They started to move him towards the table and Lance balked. He pulled against their hold but Quinn and the other one were surprising strong for their slime frame. Lance tugged and pulled, grunting with effort. Nothing good was going to happen on that table.

“Dammit!” He yelled, kicking his legs but they used their second pair of arms to hold him even tighter. He was pulled along towards the table as if he weighed nothing and in a matter of moments he was strapped down to the table.

With him secured, they began placing biosensors on him and from his peripheral, he saw the Dollmaker come to his side.

“I was hoping the quintants alone would have calmed you down. It seems like that is not the case.”

Lance glared, resisting every urge to hold back a remark.

“The drapes in that cell really made it hard for me to do that. A bit too ostentatious, don’t you think?”

_Dammit._

The Dollmaker chuckled, looking away to glance at the screen above Lance’s head. Quinn and the other one was done and he couldn’t tell if they were still in the room or not. One of Dollmaker’s hands touched his face, tilting it to one side.

“You do not have to fear. There are a few modifications I wish to apply.”

That wasn’t reassuring at all. Lance tugged at the straps that held him down but they held firm. He wasn’t getting off this table with his own strength. He grunted, frustration coiling around him.

This was all too strange! Lance almost wished he would have been caught by the galra. That would make sense at least. He knew what they wanted and what they were after. There was a motive there. Taking down Voltron and conquering the universe and all that evil jazz Zarkon loved to spew.

But this…! This was pointless!

“What do you get out of this?!” Lance couldn’t help himself as he shouted. “What interest do you have in me that’s not Voltron?!”

The Dollmaker gazed down at him, glowing eyes boring into his. “I sell beings into captivity, turn them into slaves or harvest their organs. I take on requests to train specific types of slaves. It is a good trade but at some point, it became unfulfilling. So I began to collect. I seek out the ones I find interesting and acquire them through any means. I mold them into my vision.”

“...that’s…” Lance shivered, unsure if he wanted to hear any more.

“I have no motives other than to collect and treasure what is mine. You, former paladin of Voltron, are my treasure not because you are a paladin. Your looks caught my interest so I decided I would collect you.”

He stepped away, reaching for a needle before turning back towards Lance. “Does that satisfy your question?”

Lance didn’t think there was anyone that could scare him more than Zarkon. He was horribly wrong.

As the Dollmaker injected him with whatever it was in the syringe, he thought of his Blue. Of the moment he saw her on earth so many months ago, the close calls they endured together and as a team. Of the times he would sometimes go into the hanger with blankets and pillows and climbed into the pilot seat. She was the last reminder of home. And she always appreciated the stories he told of his family and siblings. Other times he merely stayed with her simply because he could.

Lance thought of Blue and for the first time since this started, he felt the familiar burning sensation of his throat. The welling of tears that caught on his eyelashes. His mind became foggy, slipping into unconsciousness.

He heard a mournful roar, echoing in his mind, and the last thought he had was wondering if he would ever climb into her again for a late night slumber party.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lance woke up to a sore body. He groaned as he slowly sat upright, groggy as he recalled his memory.

Right, the Dollmaker operated on him. Eyes still closed, he moved his legs and arms around, checking to see if he still had his limbs.

“Well, at least I still have them.”

The Dollmaker didn’t specify what kind of modification he was making. He was a little afraid of what he might find so he kept his eyes shut.  He tilted his head up towards the ceiling, cracking an eye open, and stared at a vastly different ceiling than the one he was used to.

“What?”

Looking around, he noticed he wasn’t in his cell anymore. This room was much bigger and not as bare as the cell. One of the walls had a massive window, the sea of blackness and stars slowly floating by. Without thinking, he found himself moving towards it.

It’s been too long. He didn’t realize how much he missed the sight of the vastness of space. The stars that twinkle in the far distance, brilliant planets and moons rotating in their orbit, and various odds and end of dust and asteroids. God, he missed the sight.

Lance gazed for a moment longer, an ache in him that wasn’t from the physical soreness already pulsing in him. His chest felt tight, a steady throb building in his temples until he was no longer looking out at space but in the castle’s hanger, where the lions stayed.

“Have we got anything? Anything at all!?”

Keith was pacing back and forth, gripping the hilt of his blade. Shiro was near him, looking at him with concern. But Lance could see that even he was agitated by the way he stood.

“They’re working on it,” His voice was gentle as always. “But even they are having trouble tracking that ship down.”

Keith growled, abruptly stopping as he turned towards Shiro. “If only…”

Shiro stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “The fault is on none of us. We were unprepared and caught off guard. That won’t happen again when we find him. Right, Blue?”

Shiro looked up and straight at him. At Blue. Lance could feel her presence, low worried rumbling rolling through him. She was worried. She was angry. Blue’s emotions poured through his being and left one question imprinted in him before the vision faded.

He was back in the room, on his hands and knees as drops of tears fell to the floor.

_Where?_

“I don’t… I don’t _know._ ” His voice trembled, hands curling into fists as he raised one and slammed it against the floor. “ _Dammit!_ ”

He slammed his fist repeatedly, uncaring of the pain. He was lost. Lost and helpless against the situation. He couldn’t do a fucking thing except wait it out. He didn’t even know what he was waiting out! Lance raised his fist once more, unaware of the blood that ran down his fingers but was stopped.

“Lance no.”

He looked up, surprised to see Quinn. They were holding his hand back. Then Lance noticed the blood. The pain escalated but it felt distant. Quinn gently guided Lance to his feet, leading him towards a room with no door. It was smaller but he was vaguely aware of a massive pit in the ground, filled with water. His mind supplied that this room was probably the bathroom.

Quinn sat him down on a chair, leaving him alone for a moment before they returned with a first aid kit. They went to work on cleaning his hand, checking his clawed fingers before they carefully wrapped his hand up in bandages.

….clawed?

Lance focused on his hands and yes, they were clawed. He frantically looked around and saw a tall mirror beside him and he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at.

It was him. Lance recognized his face, it was still the same shape but his ears. They looked like Allura’s. His ears were longer, more pointed. They were pierced; three silver rings on each with a fourth blue studded gem at the lobes. His hair looked just a bit longer but it was the eyes that caught him by surprise.

His eyes were pupil less. The sclera was dark blue, just like his iris. All encompassing blue. He lifted his free hand, wanting to touch his eyes but stopped when he noticed the clawed fingers. He couldn’t touch his eyes. Lance noticed that he was naked but that didn’t seem to matter. He felt so distant from the body that was slowly moving its hands in the mirror just like he was. It didn’t feel like his body.

But it was.

“Let heal. Body still healing.”

Quinn spoke but it sounded so far away. Turning to look at him, Lance saw that the door to the hallway was left open. Whether it was instinct or fear, Lance couldn’t differentiate but he shoved Quinn aside, slipping out of his grasp as he bolted.  

Feet slapping against metal, Lance ran as blood rushed through him. A moment later, alarms were blaring. He ignored it, focused more on finding the damn escape pods. Skidding towards a turn, he ran into two other mannequin like aliens. They reached for him, hands grasping at his arms. Lance growled, centering his weight on his legs before he launched forward, punching one of the aliens.

He didn’t have time to think of the odd strength he felt as the alien staggered back. Lance felt a presence behind him and his body reacted before his mind did, roundhouse kicking the other alien. He ran again, ignoring every thought that wasn’t about escape. He could think about all the freaky things that were done to his body later. Preferably when he was light years away from this nightmare.

He rounded the next corner and halted to a stop, eyes growing wide. The Dollmaker was at the end of the short hallway, standing in front of what looked like the escape pod station.

Lance ran the other way. He couldn’t face him. He needed to get as far as way from him before he used-

“Lance, _stop_.” The Dollmaker’s voice sank into his body and it stopped. His legs wouldn’t listen to the plead that was repeating in his mind. He pounded his fists against his thighs, clawing at them, begging them to move.

“Please, please, please, move, please!”

His body didn’t listen, staying rooted to the spot. He was helpless.

“You almost made it.” The Dollmaker said, coming around to stand in front of Lance. “Most do not make it past their room.”

Lance felt defeated. So this was a test? For what? To see what he would do?

“Why? Why are you doing this?!” He glared at the Dollmaker, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I don’t get any of this!”

The Dollmaker looked down at him and Lance wanted to punch that expressionless skull face. Instead he flinched when the Dollmaker reached towards him, hands grabbing his face by the chin as he leaned in close. “You are my doll. That is all the reason you need to understand.”

Lance trembled, the heavy weight of despair settling in his stomach. The Dollmaker let his face go then used his bottom pair of arms to carry him. Lance didn’t fight, too exhausted and defeated to even think about resisting.

“Unfortunately you must be punished for this attempt. But seeing as how your body is still healing from your procedure, I will postpone it.” Lance was brought into the room he woke up in and was set down on the bed. The Dollmaker looked over his body, noticing the scratches he left on his thighs and his injured hand.

“One, see to the wounds on his thighs. Monitor his recovery and keep an eye on his mental condition. Lance is displaying signs of self harm. When he is well, he will receive his punishment.”

One, or rather Quinn, nodded as he went to fetch the first aid kit again.

“Lance, I do not like dealing punishments. It will be easier on your health if you accept your new life.”

“...eat shit.”

“So be it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lance wanted to believe he could endure whatever it was the Dollmaker dealt. He gritted his teeth as they took him to small room, the only thing in there being an upright table with straps and restraints. He refused to give them the satisfaction as he fought with his instincts to struggle. He was strapped down, legs spread as Quinn tied the cuffs around his ankles. His arms were raised above his head, strapped down as well until he was spread eagle.

He couldn’t move. The straps and cuff held him upright against the table. The Dollmaker watched, eyes on Lance as Quinn checked the straps. Lance glared right back, defiant.

Once satisfied, Quinn backed away. Without a word, they both left. As soon as the door closed, the room was plunged into darkness. He couldn’t see, couldn’t move.

Lance could only hear the sound of his heart beating against his chest, the shallow breathing of his lungs, and the mantra he repeated in his mind.

_This is nothing, I can endure. If Shiro could endure, so can I._

 

\-----

 

“Hey, uhh, I know this is a punishment and all but I really need to go to the bathroom.”

Predictably, no one answered him. It was a few hours in and he urgently needed to go. Or at least it felt like a few hours, he couldn’t tell. He couldn’t even cross his legs together if he wanted to.

“Fine, suit yourself.”

This wouldn’t break him. He refused to let it even as he felt the hot shame crawl up as neck as he relieved himself.  

 

\------

 

The hunger settled in next.

His stomach growled, aching a little. Lance didn’t bother speaking to the air. No one was going to answer. Instead he focused on his other body parts.

Everything ached. The cuffs that held his wrists up dug into them. Occasionally, he tried to move his wrist with the little give between his skin and the cuffs but that only brought a some amount of relief. He wanted to arch his back, away from the cold table but the straps held him down. His stomach hurt, feeling oddly hollow and there was a soft throb that pulsed against his head.

Lance was miserable. He would be lying if he said he didn't cry. The most he could do was hope the Dollmaker couldn’t see his tears.

 

\------

 

He sometimes saw the hanger in his dreams. Keith or Shiro would be there. Other times it was Hunk. They all looked up, directly at him, like they could see him. But it was Blue.

They looked at the Blue Lion, concern etched on their faces and Link hated it. He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t talk or touch them to reassure them. He could only look and look and desperately wish he could talk to them.

His body continued to ache, it hurt to hold up his head, and the ache in his stomach turned into a stabbing pain. Lance couldn’t begin to tell his dreams and reality apart. It all blended together. Sometimes he was looking at an empty hagger or pitch darkness. He would see his friends and he would cry, torn between wanting to return the the darkness or stay and mourn their company.

Lance never felt alone. Lonely, sure, plenty of times, but never once did he feel like he was alone. Even when he was jettisoned into a galactic war, forced to leave the garrison and his mother and sisters behind, he wasn’t alone. Not when he had Blue.

From the moment he saw Blue and she lowered her shield barrier back on Earth, Lance could feel her warm and massive presence in his mind. When missions went bad and he holed himself up in his room, he could feel her comforting him. When they dealt a blow to the galra and helped free a planet from their rule, she joined in his joy. It was a partnership he never knew he wanted and if there was one positive outlook to this torture, it was that he wasn’t alone.

He felt her anger and worry and that alone kept him fighting back.

 

\-----

 

Lance was back in the hangar but the air felt different.

Blue had her shields raised. The massive room that housed the lions felt uncomfortably small. Shiro and the others, all of them, were standing in front of the barrier. In front of them, Allura stood in front of the Blue Lion, a determined expression on her face.

“We haven’t given up,” She said, looking directly at Blue. At Lance. “We’re still looking for him, the Blade is still searching for clues, but we can’t…” She looked down, hands curling into fists.

“We need to form Voltron. We can’t do that without you. I am not replacing Lance. I know your bond is with him, but if we have any chance of finding him, any chance of stopping whoever it was, we need the full strength of this team. Please, give me that chance.”

“ _No.”_

Allura couldn’t hear him, no one could. He could only watch as a heavy silence followed.

Blue’s barrier began to disappear and there was an audible sigh of relief. Allura smiled, stepping close to her as she made her way into the cockpit. She placed her hand on Blue’s massive paw, bowing her head slightly.

“Thank you. I promise you we’ll get our paladin back. No matter what.”

She walked up the ramp and the other headed towards their own lions.

Lance wanted to stop her. He wanted to stop all of them. Logically, he knew this was their only choice. They needed Voltron. Not only to find him but to fight back against the galra. It was the right decision.

He didn’t like it but it was necessary. It wasn’t until Allura climbed into the cockpit that a strange dissociation began to happen.

As Blue lit up, Lance could feel that bond he had with his lion slip away. Cold dread went down his spine as it became fainter and fainter. The hanger was flickering away, as if a static film was obscuring his image of it until there was nothing but black.

He reached out, tried to feel Blue but it was so faint. He couldn’t sense her emotions, couldn’t feel the weight of her presence in his mind. He called out to her and there was nothing.

He was alone. Absolutely _alone_.

Lance screamed. He screamed as loudly as he could, over and over again. He screamed until he bleed.

He screamed until he couldn’t anymore. And even then, he didn’t stop.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i hate editing 
> 
> next up: >:3c


	3. Combat with Etiquette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be using they/he pronouns for the Dollmaker and Quinn 
> 
> I tried to stick to one but im a poor excuse of an editor/writer

There was a collar around his neck.

Lance lifted a hand, mindful of his claws, as he traced it. It was a delicate looking thing, silver ovals intersecting with each other as it wrapped around his neck. A single gem hung from it, fluctuating from blue to green and back to blue. The collar fit snug against his neck, not tight enough to choke him but enough so that he was constantly aware of it.

He gritted his teeth, a hand slamming against the mirror in front of him. Spider web cracks radiated throughout the glass from the impact, shattering his naked image in the reflection.

He heard a frantic chirp from the other room as Quinn rushed to his side. They held his hand, gently guiding him away from the broken mirror and back into the bedroom. There they fussed over his hand, making sure he hadn’t hurt himself.

Lance wanted to smile a little. For having no face, they were pretty easy to read. It was endearing.

“Another broken mirror?”

He no longer felt like smiling. Lance turned to look at the Dollmaker, watching as they approached him. They reached out, a hand cupping his chin and Lance hated the tiny bit of yearning he felt at their touch.

He was left in the dark for two weeks. After Blue had broken their bond, he couldn’t remember much afterwards. He thought he’d seen glimpses of Quinn but even that felt like a blurred memory. He couldn’t trust what he did remember but he knew he could never forget the utter isolation he felt. Lance never feared being alone but having been isolated for so long gave him a healthy dose of what true loneliness felt like.

“Open.”

Lance didn’t fight as he did what he was told, feeling a finger press lightly against his fangs. Apparently in between getting taken out the room and waking up, the Dollmaker had operated on him again and elongated his canines.

He bit his tongue when he first tried to speak.

“A few more days and we can begin your training.” They said as they pulled away.

“Training?” Sometimes Lance wished he had a better brain to mouth filter. He stepped away from the Dollmaker just in case, standing by Quinn’s side. The Dollmaker hasn’t reprimanded him for speaking out, so far, but it was always better to be a little cautious.

“Etiquette,” the Dollmaker answered. “As well as combat training. It would be a waste to let your body forget the experience you gained as a paladin.”

At that, Lance felt a twinge of pain as he subconsciously tried to reach Blue. He knew she wouldn’t answer, knew that it was hopeless to even try but it was a habit that came to him like breathing. A habit he needed to break as soon a possible if he wanted to keep his peace of mind.

“One, continue to monitor.” The Dollmaker said before he left, the door closing shut behind them.

Lance visibly relaxed, tense shoulders finally easing down. It was just him and Quinn and Lance felt a hell of a lot safer with Quinn.

“Lance hurt?”

Puzzled, Lance looked down at his hands to see Quinn holding his bandaged hand. He had somehow redid the bandages while Lance was talking to the Dollmaker. There was an inquiring tilt to his head, waiting for a response.

“No, it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt,” He answered. “But, hey, I’m kinda curious. Why does he call you One?”

Quinn was silent for a moment before he answered, “One is Quinn. The first in Dollmaker’s collection. First creation.”

“Creation? He made you?”

Quinn shook his head, “Made better, modified to be better. Original form wasn’t adequate.”

Lance felt a cold shiver crawl over his skin, he almost didn’t want to ask but his damned curiosity got the better of him, “D-do you remember what you looked like, what you first looked like before he changed you?”

“No. Many deca-phoebs have passed. One’s current form is best according to Dollmaker,” he said it as if it were completely natural to have his body changed to the point beyond recognition. “Lance eat now. Still too weak.” Quinn left him to his own and Lance simply stood in the middle of the room.

Would he be modified to the point he could no longer recognize himself in the mirror? Is that what he had to look forward to? 

 

* * *

 

Combat training was first.

Quinn led him to a training room and gave Lance a white bodysuit that clung to him like a second skin. The hall was massive and it reminded him of the combat room back on the castle. Lance quickly shook his head, putting a stop to whatever thoughts that would lead up too.

“What will I be doing?” He turned to ask Quinn, only to see the Dollmaker close to him. Lance managed to hold back a shriek, a small miracle in of itself, and took a large step away from them.

“At least make some noise next time if you’re gonna sneak up on me like that!”

The Dollmaker chuckled, walking towards a pedestal nearby. Holograms lit up as he approached the pedestal and they began to set up whatever training course they had in mind. Lance’s heartbeat managed to settle back down from that surprise, eyeing the Dollmaker carefully.

So far, he hadn’t been reprimanded for talking back to the Dollmaker. Lance knew he shouldn’t push his luck. He could end up saying the wrong thing that finally does get him punished. But it was one of the few things left he had a grip on, his quips. If anything, it seemed to amuse the Dollmaker. Lance just needed to be more mindful of what he was going to say. His brain to mouth filter needed to be on point.

“We will do basic hand to hand combat. Fight until you physically cannot continue.”

An alarm blared across the room and from the floor, rose three training robots from a platform. They were four-armed, segmented like a puppeteer's puppet with a single slit of light on their otherwise featureless face. Lance wasn’t much of a hands on fighting type but Allura had been adamant that they all practice. His hand itched for his rifle or sniper, it’ll be easier with them but he doubted the Dollmaker would let him have one.

Still, he could put up a decent fight if push came to shove.

The three robots charged towards him and Lance braced himself, eyes quickly darting between them until he settled on the middle one.

Launching himself forward, Lance threw his entire weight at the robot. They both slammed to the ground, the impact cracking the back of its head. He grabbed one of its arms, claws digging into malleable metal as he ripped it off. Lance leap away from it, mangled arm in his hand as he faced the other two. He gave the mangled arm a glance, surprised that he managed to actually tear it off. That was odd.

From the corner of his eye, Lance saw one of the robots hand began to glow and it transformed into a sharpened knife.

“That’s cheating!” Lance shouted as he dodged the swing from it. It twisted its upper body around completely, coming at Lance for a second attack against his open back. Pain seared across his back. He stumbled on his footing, planting a hand on the ground ad pivoted around, feeling blood trickle from the wound. Frustrated, he threw the torn arm at it and with it distracted, he tackled the robot to the ground.

He managed to tear off the transformed arm when he felt the back of his neck prickle. He looked over his shoulders just in time to duck a kick aimed at his head. Lance reached to grab the supporting leg and yanked, topping it over beside him. With another mangled arm in his hand, Lance scooted away.

The first one he attacked was back on its feet and the one he just toppled over was also regaining its footing. Lance snapped off the tip of the transformed hand, tossing the rest of the arm away as he stood up and ran, dagger first into one of the robots.

He twisted the makeshift dagger deep into its chest, sparks flying. A sharp pain pierced his side and a blow landed against his head. Lance gritted his teeth, grabbing the arm that had stabbed him as he tore it off. The robot went down, the light on its face fading.

One down, two more to go.

Lance fought like an animal, using his clawed hands to rip and tear into the metal. The odd strength that he had felt since waking up surged through him as he disarmed the other robots. For every punch to the face or kick to his ribs, Lance returned the favor. He tore the head off one of the robots, crushing it against its own chest. With the last foe left, Lance tore into it completely. Bits of metal flew away from him until there was nothing left to tear into.

Lance was left panting heavily, standing among broken bits of metal and robotic body parts. He took a moment to look down at his hands. That wasn’t his strength. Lance could fight as well as the next guy but he was never strong enough to tear through metal. He figured all the mirrors he had broken were due out of rage and spite. He aimed a glare at the Dollmaker, “What _else_ did you do to me?”

“Infused you with refined quintessence,”he said matter of fact like. As if injecting people with quintessence was completely normal. “You Humans are soft and even though the scans found you to be durable than most, you are still human. The training will serve to hone that strength and allow me to make any adjustment if needed. Now, continue.”

“Contin…?”

He didn’t have time to finish as three more robots rose from the floor, hands already transformed into daggers.

“You will fight until you are no longer able to.” The alarm rang again and the robots ran at Lance.

 

* * *

 

Sweat and blood dripped from Lance’s forehead as he struggled to get on his feet. His suit was torn in several places, blood openly flowing from some deep gashes across his chest, legs, and arms. He was half knelt, his right arm trembling as they struggled to hold him up. The other arm became dislocated during one of the rounds and he was doing everything he could to not shift it too much. With a grunt, and wave of nausea almost making him puke,  Lance somehow managed to stand on his feet.

Dozens of robotic body parts were strewn around him. He had lost count of how many he fought after the 30th robot. The Dollmaker had been silent during the however many hours it’s been since he started fighting, taking notes here and there.

“Place your hands behind your back, hand clasping your wrist.”

Lance wanted to collapse on the floor and sleep. His legs were burning just from trying to keep him up. And he had no desire to shift his dislocated shoulder around. He was mid thought when the Dollmaker spoke again, his voice laced with that heavy weight,

“ _Place your hands behind you back, hand clasping your wrist._ ”

His body compiled against his will, and his shoulder hurt something bad. Lance gritted his teeth together, breathing through his mouth in short bursts.

“ _Straighten up._ ”

Tears started to well up, body straightening until he stood at attention.

“I can’t…. Please,” he begged because that was the only thing left. His body wouldn’t listen to him while under the Dollmakers’ influence.

“From here on out, One will bring you here every quintant for combat training,” he ignored Lance’s plea. “At the end of the session, you will stand at attention as you are now when I tell you too. For every tick you hesitate, I will leave you at attention for that many varga. For today, I will only count the ticks it took for you to stand. _Stand at attention for 6 vargas._ ”

Six hours of standing on his feet; supporting a body covered in bleeding knife wounds, bruises, and a dislocated shoulder.

“That’s… that’s insane! I have actual stab wounds! I can’t..! Please!” Lance was openly crying now, head lowered. His muscles were burning, aching with the need to relax but they couldn’t. His body was locked in position. He couldn’t even move his toes or fingers.

“If you faint, I will add the remaining time to your next session. This is your first lesson in etiquette: I do not tolerant hesitation.” The Dollmaker walked towards Lance and with a gentle touch, cradled his head in his hands. He tilted Lance’s head up so he could see the tears run over bruised and scraped cheeks.

Lance didn’t have the heart to glare at him, keeping his eyes lowered. A finger ran over a scratch he had over his cheek, following the cut until they wiped away some of the tears. He could feel the second pair of arms touch his arms, one of them squeezing his dislocated shoulder. He whined as the pain flared for a moment.

Then in a quick twist, the Dollmaker popped Lance’s shoulder back into place. Lance cried out, eyes scrunched in pain. The Dollmaker kept his head cradled in his hands, caressing his cheeks until he was no longer yelling. The pain was fading but it _hurt_.

“I let you speak up as much as you want to. Immediate suppression of will mold excellent slaves but it leaves them lifeless. Empty. I do not care for that type. However, when I ask a command of you, I expect you to listen and follow them without question nor hesitation. My commands are your new laws. Do you understand?”

“...yes.” Lance answered immediately. He wasn’t crying anymore and while his body continues to ache and hurt, he felt mentally drained.

“Do not fret, Lance. I am not needlessly cruel. Your mistakes will be punished but you will also be given rewards and privileges. You did well today despite it being your first combat session. As such, I will move you from the cells in the lower deck into the room I have prepared for you. When your six varga are done, Quinn will take you to a healing pod and you will be able to relax afterward. Do you understand?”

“Yes…”

 

* * *

 

Lance fainted after 2 hours.

When he regained consciousness, his body felt better and was healed of all the wounds he had taken. There was only a lingering ache in his bones that acted as a reminder of his first lesson.

He stayed motionless, staring at yet another new ceiling. It was quiet and the bed he was on was incredible soft and warm. He felt cloth on his skin and metal on his wrists. Lance lifted an arm up, seeing a bracelet similar to his collar snug against his skin. He let his arm drop back down, draping it over his eyes.

He let himself cry, curling up on his side until he was felt as small as he did on the inside. The slow realization of this becoming his new life was sinking in. He couldn’t figure out what the Dollmaker ultimately wanted from him and that thought alone terrified him.

Lance fell asleep with fear in his heart and a dull ache as he thought of Blue and his friends.

 

* * *

 

The combat sessions were relentlessly brutal. Every day, Lance fought for hours until the point of exhaustion, body always covered in bleeding wounds and bruises. At the end of every one, he stood at attention as the Dollmaker reviewed his performance. For every tick he wavered or faltered in his form, he was made to stand for that many varga.

At first, the Dollmaker used his influence to make him stand. It was the only way he could manage to stand, even if it meant another varga was added to his time.

With every session that passed, every day he was made to stand, he grew stronger. Lance was taking down the training robots with ease. He was ending sessions with fewer and fewer wounds. Occasionally, the Dollmaker would point out flaws in his fighting form, giving him advice to correct it. With the following session, Lance would use that advice to improve his fighting.

He soon began to clear each session with no wounds on him. Even with increased number of robots he fought, Lance swept through them with ease. He fought harder, more effective, and he no longer needed the Dollmaker’s influence to stand. Even if he felt exhausted to the point of puking, Lance stood straight, hands behind his back and a hand clasping his wrist, awaiting the Dollmaker’s evaluation.

“At ease, Lance,” the Dollmaker said, setting the cleaner robots to pick up the remains. Lance let out a sigh as he relaxed his posture. His body ached and every sore muscle was screaming at him to sit but he ignored that urge. It had become easier to ignore the pain. “You did exceptionally well today,”

A small part of him preened at compliment and he mentally yelled at himself.

“I will have you undergo one more operation,” At the mention of operation, Lance flinched. He underwent a few operations that were mostly more injection of refined quintessence into him. He hasn’t had another body modification operation and while he couldn’t say no, he’d rather fight a hundred more robots than undergo another one. “Do not fret, it will be to dull your pain senses a bit. I rather like how you look now.”

Lance rolled his eyes, of course they did. At least that made one of them. Lance still couldn’t fully met his eyes in a reflection. His blue pupiless eyes glowed a bit now, an after effect of having quintessence shot into him, and it had taken much restraint to not start bashing up the mirrors again in his room.

“Moving on, which weapon would you prefer to use?”

That gave Lance some pause. “Weapon?”

“A privilege I am entrusting you with,” the Dollmaker said as he approached Lance. “Starting tomorrow, these sessions will stop. I will be giving you roaming access to the rest of the ship. The lower decks are restricted and One will be accompanying you but you are free to walk where you please.”

“...this sounds like a trap.”

The Dollmaker chuckled, standing before him as he predictably used a pair of his arms to cradle Lance’s head in his hands. They always did this, petting his head or running a finger over his ears, making them flick from the gentleness of it. Like this, Lance was forced to look up at the Dollmaker and, even though his head was a skull, he could tell there was a fondness.

Lance wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“There is no trap. You have earned this privilege. I ask for your weapon of choice because your style of fighting is rough. You are not unused to fighting but you favor moves that put you at a distant from your enemies.”

“A rifle or sniper,” Lance said. “I was the teams sharpshooter.”

The Dollmaker nodded, “That makes sense. Your accuracy is sufficiently high. Very well, I will inform One to take you to the weaponry so you may choose one for yourself.”

“...This definitely sounds like a trap.”

“Not a trap,” they said, a hint of a smile in their deep voice. “A privilege and trust. Should you betray this trust, the punishment will be severe and it would pain me should it ever happen. Now, go and rest.”

Lance nodded, stepping away from the Dollmaker as he made his way towards the exit. Quinn joined him, leading him the way back to the room. He was silent, going over the conversation he just had. Lance was able to hide his surprise but now that he was left with his thoughts, he wasn’t sure he liked what he felt or what it implied.

When did he start thinking of his team, his _friends_ , in the past tense?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: will that M rating turn into an E rating??? :o


	4. Claimed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's up, kiddos, its ya boi again!
> 
> thanks for all the kudos and comment ive gotten for this story! I bring you a new chapter and more langst~ 
> 
> Warning: dub-con of the sexual variety happens, body horror, alien tentacle peens, lance does not have a good time, so thread carefully if you decide to read on

A light flashed red, quick with an accompanying alarm and Lance felt the first dread of panic crawl over his skin. He pushed it aside, lunging forward as he drove his dagger into the robotic sentry. It jerked back, reaching for Lance but he tackled the sentry, bringing it down as he whipped out his rifle. Barrel pressed to its head, Lanced fired, the shot searing a hole clean through.

The panic was still cling to his bodysuit, red flashing again, but it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered except for the Dollmaker’s safety.

Lance swiftly rolled away from the sentry he fell, the whistle of a blade slicing through where his head was a second ago. Turning the roll into a crouch, he lunged forward, striking low with a shot at second sentry’s chest. It stumbled backward and Lance twirled the dagger in his hand, hilt pressed against his palm as he drove it underneath the its’ chin. The sentry twitched, sparks flying from the wound as it powered down.

A third flash of red illuminated the room, the alarm ringing in his ear and the panic sunk deeper into his flesh. It turned his blood cold and tightly gripped his heart. He hesitated, the room seemingly dimming away to the darkness that awaited him.

Awaited his _failures_.

Lance growled, teeth clenching together as he forced himself to focus on the present.

A hologram of the Dollmaker stood in the middle of the training room. Beneath them a circle was lit up, the radius three feet wide. Various fallen sentries littered the floor around the hologram. Of the thirty sentries that he started with, Lance had managed to dwindle it down five. Two were making their way to Lance while the remaining three headed towards the Dollmaker. His mind raced as he tried to figure out how he could prevent the three sentries from reaching the Dollmaker.

It was a fairly familiar exercise the Dollmaker made him practice. Stop anything from getting close to the hologram of the Dollmaker by any means possible. If a sentry made it within the circle, that was an hour in isolation. If they managed to attack the hologram, that was six hours.

Lance's body shuddered, fear spiking at the thought of his future punishment.  

He was always bound, left kneeling in a small room; hands tied behind his back, a thick heavy collar snapped around his neck. A rigid pole that connected to the floor was clipped to his collar, limiting his mobility to always remain kneeling but just loose enough that he knelt by his own strength. And when he was secured, the room’s light would turn off, leaving him completely in the dark.

However, the worst part was the silence. There was only so much talking, singing, or humming he could do before he grew tired, before the absence of sound turned his thoughts toxic. He thought he could handle it but Lance had been so wrong.

Three alarms rang in a row, Lance snapping away from his thoughts to see the three sentries attack the hologram.

Lance wanted to scream but he refused to let the panic sink in, refused to give any acknowledgment to the disappointment that clutched his chest. He couldn't think about that. Not now. He needed to focus, vision tunneling until he only saw the two sentries ahead of him blocking his way. His thoughts became methodical and simple, focused on eliminating the remaining sentries.

He heard the whir of a rifle firing up and Lance ran head on, taking the burnt sting of the laser against his shoulder as he tackled the sentry, shoving the dagger into its head. The second one aimed a kick at Lance but he ducked, surging forward to dig his claws into the metal. Ripping and tearing chunks of its legs until it fell, plunging his hands into its chest to tear its core.

Two down, three to go, and the room flashed red again. The urgency rang through his mind, a singular thought screaming; protect the Dollmaker.

Rush towards the sentry nearest to the Dollmaker. Aim and fire shots at it to get its attention. Jump and slam into the sentry, tossing his rifle at the sentry behind the one he tackled. Ignore the pain that seared through his stomach and plunge the dagger into its featureless head. Endure the kick to his head, catching the foot in his hand.

Dig claws into the metal, rip, tear, until it topples over. Yank the dagger out and haul the fallen sentry towards him, plunging it at its chest, over and over until it stopped moving.

Ignore the pain, ignore it, _ignore it, nothing else matters except the Dollmaker's safety, fight until all threats were handled, roll towards the rifle, sweeping his feet out to take out the last sentry, straddle its chest and fire point blank at its face_

 _Over and over and over and_ **_over_ **

_“Lance, stop.”_

Lance’s body froze, hands held above his head with the dagger clutched tightly in between, poised over the mutilated chest of the sentry. His breathing was ragged and now that he couldn't strike out, Lance couldn't ignore the pain he felt all over his body. He looked down and noticed a large piece of shrapnel sticking out his right side, just underneath his ribs.

When did that happen?

What… what exactly happened?

A shadow loomed over him and Lance looked up to see the Dollmaker standing in front of him, impossibly tall and imposing, glowing eyes focused on him. Nothing about his posture belied what his thoughts could be, arms relaxed by his side.

Lance blinked, vision blurring as he felt a tightness in his chest pop, a flood of relief washing over him.

There wasn't a mark on the Dollmaker. They were unharmed. They were safe. He hadn’t _failed them._

Lance’s arms dropped by his side, dagger clattering on the floor. There was a heaviness to his body, limbs feeling like dead weight. He clenched his teeth and gripped the piece of metal sticking out of him and with a grunt, yanked it out. A fresh wave of pain coursed through him, blood freely flowing from the wound.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was scolded by a familiar voice but, for the life of him, Lance couldn’t figure out whose voice it was.

He slowly rose to his feet, breathing heavily as he held his hands behind his back. Despite the weariness and pain, Lance didn’t waver in his form as he stood at attention, eyes on the Dollmaker as he waited for their command.

Quinn was hovering behind the Dollmaker, anxious to get to Lance’s side. If he could, Lance wanted to smile at them. He’d grown attached to Quinn and Lance ached to reassure them that he was okay. He wanted to return the gesture but neither of them could act. Not without the Dollmaker's permission.

So Lance waited, eyes never leaving the Dollmakers eyes. Ignoring the pain and ache of his body was second nature by now, numerous days and weeks of consequence and submission instilled into every inch of his modified body.

The Dollmaker walked towards him, forcing Lance to look up at his towering figure as he came closer. A pair of hands slid over his body, running over the various bruises and cuts while another pair of hands cupped his face. A hand ran over the bleeding wound, a finger pressing into the aching flesh.

Lance barely flinched, eyes on the Dollmakers gaze.

“Beautiful.”

Lance felt himself smile, finally leaning into the Dollmakers touch. His strength of will was the only thing holding him up but with the Dollmaker's praise, he felt himself go limp.

He hadn’t disappointted the Dollmaker.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Lance wok up, Quinn was by his side, checking over his body. Aside from a minor ache throughout his body, he was fine. He let Quinn go through his checklist, hands gently poking and prodding. What surprised Lance the most was the scar he had, where the metal shrapnel had embed itself underneath his ribs. Usually, he was placed in a healing pod to heal any injuries he had gained during a training session.

“Lance, okay?” Quinn stood in front of him, head tilted to the side.

“Yeah, I’m alright. When am I getting my punishment?”

Lance hadn’t forgotten that he failed. The fact that he hadn’t immediately woken up bound and blind was a small miracle.

Quinn shook his head, “No punishment. Dollmaker is pleased with results.”

“They are?” he asked, shuffling towards the edge of the bed.

What part of any of that led to good results? The sentries slipped by his grasps and repeatedly attacked the Dollmaker’s hologram. Did he do something different? Was there something else the Dollmaker was testing?

Lance sighed, ending that train of thought. Whenever he thought he figured out the Dollmaker’s actions, he’ll do something so different that it threw Lance off. He settled with a frustrated groan, flopping back on the bed. Well, he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Lance could take the time to go over tactics, maybe run through scenarios so that next time he could neutralize all the targets. He didn't want to disappoint again.

...Disappoint? When did that matter?   

“Lance?”

Quinn’s voice snapped him from his thoughts, “What’s up, buddy?”

“Dollmaker requests. Lance must be prepared.”

“Prepared? Am I going somewhere?” Lance asked as Quinn guided him off the bed and ushered him towards bathroom.

The water was already running, steam fogging up the room. Quinn led him into the shower, guiding him to sit on a stool under the current of warm water. Lance watched as Quinn gathered a bottle, squirting a blue foamy liquid into his hands.

Lance stretched out his legs as Quinn kneeled in front of him and began to lather the liquid on his legs. Skilled fingers worked the soap into his skin.

He would be lying if he said it didn't feel nice. Lance had resisted at first, when Quinn first attempted to bathe him.

That earned him several days in a pod that was more akin to a coffin. He hadn't been able to move and Lance had screamed himself hoarse. Left to stew in his own filth until the Dollmaker asked him again if he would resist.

If it meant never having to go through that particular hell again, Lance quickly adapted and gave in. Quinn didn't seemed bothered by bathing him so Lance didn't fight them again.

Lance watched Quinn sit back, shucking off his robe to prevent it from getting wet. They wore a bodysuit underneath, similar to the one lance wore for his combat session underneath. Pumping more of the blue soap into their hands, Quinn leaned back in.

Quinn wasn't taller than the Dollmaker but he was still taller than Lance, at least by a head. Their first pair of hands glided over his navel, massaging his stomach while the second pair worked into his thighs. He was careful, mindful of the new scar and diligent as he concentrated on Lance. He was quiet but Quinn wasn’t much for conversation. It was the stiffness of their shoulders and hands that tipped Lance off.

“Quinn, what really is going on? Not that I'm complaining about the extra TLC but, this seems a bit... extra.”

Quinn’s hands were over his chest and they paused, head tilted down.

“Do not think ill of One. Dollmaker requests to claim. Lance will be prepared. One is conflicted.”

Lance straightened up, peering at Quinn.

“Okay, alright, so I'm getting prepared for something. You don’t want me too?”  

Quinn nodded, “One prepares. Always prepares. Dollmaker takes body and twists and molds. One does not want to prepare Lance. Lance is good.”

There was something heartbreaking about this, something that Lance couldn't pinpoint. He reached out, fitting his hands against Quinn’s. Quinn threaded his fingers with Lance, tilting his head to the side.

“Lance gives One proper name. Kind. Other dolls don’t give much thought to One. One does not care for other dolls. One cares for Lance.”

Lance smiled, a small thing but it was bright. He knew, if Quinn wasn't with him, if it had been anyone else, Lance might not have lasted as long as he did here. Quinn had a sort of innocent earnest charm to them that Lance appreciated and clung to.

“Hey, quit frowning. Even without a mouth, I know you’re frowning,” he said. “I like you too, bud. Though, you can be a little pushy about feeding me that green food goo.”

“It is nutritional."

“It taste like a hot pile of garbage, Quinn. Have you ever tasted it? Hot. Garbage.”

“Nutritional. Lance too thin.”

Lance laughed, “Hot garbage goo. And hey! I’m lean! There's a difference,” He bopped Quinn against his forehead for that defamatory statement then held Quinn’s hands again.  “Listen, I appreciate you telling me this. You’re good too. Thank you.”

Lance brought his arms up, wrapping them around Quinn’s slender neck and pulled him into a hug. They stiffened, arms awkwardly hanging in the air until they tentatively mimicked Lance’s gestures. Lance chuckled softly as Quinn pulled him in.

“One...Quinn is sorry.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lance was dressed in a black robe, similar to the one Quinn wore with the gold delicate designs along the hem. With Quinn guiding him, Lance found himself in an all too familiar room. The Dollmaker was by the table, eyes already on him.

Lance sighed, shrugging of the robe to let it pool around his feet, shuddering a little from the sudden exposure to the cold and sterile air in the room.

“What are you changing now?” Lance asked as he walked over to the table. He winced a little as his bare ass sat on the metal, hoisting his legs up over the table.

“A minor organ removal.”

Lance tensed, his beaten fight or flight response kicking up a little. He gripped the edge of the table, staying where he sat. Everything had been relatively minor things. Or at least, Lance had managed to convince himself they were minor things. His pupiless eyes, his pointed ears, the sharpened canines, his dulled sense of pain, the injections of concentrated quintessence; they were minor things.

He lived and that’s what matters.

“Do not fret,” the Dollmaker’s voice broke through his aimless, frantic reassurance. He looked up, meeting the Dollmaker’s gaze. “I am not removing any of your limbs or vital organs. It is your testicles that I am removing.”

Lance blinked, he wasn’t sure how to react but he felt incredibly relieved. The Dollmaker gently guided him to lay back on the table and Lance did. A hand ran through his hair, comforting and soft as he felt the all too familiar prick of a needle against his neck.

“Unlike the other modifications, this will not take long,” they said. “When you wake up, we can begin.”

“What are we beginning?” Lance asked.

“Your acceptance, Lance. Tell me, what were you thinking during the training earlier?”

Lance looked away, taking several seconds before he answered, “...I wasn’t thinking much. The sentries had attacked your hologram and I… I needed to eliminate them.”

_He couldn't disappoint._

Lance didn't say that out loud but he had a feeling the Dollmaker knew. They ran a hand through his hair and Lance felt his eyes get heavy, his body reacting slower and slower as the sedatives took effect.

“I will admit you were a hard one to mend, Lance. But I am glad you are resilient. You will be amazing…”

They continued to talk but Lance was already falling under. He fell asleep to the gentle strokes of a hand through his hair, ignoring the fact that those hands has caused him insurmountable pain.

And will probably continue to do so but they were minor things.

He lived and that's all that matters.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lance felt alien, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

His hair had grown longer, the fringes curling along his ears and neck. Blue pupiless eyes followed the curve of his elongated ears, pierced stud earrings with a blue gem, the tips flicking down as the familiar sense uncertainty made itself known.

He stared at the necklace, the blue mesmerizing gem hanging and resting in the dip between his collarbone. Over his arms, bands of silver adorned his forearms and wrists. A matching pair of anklets, jiggling with every small shift of his body, finished whatever look the Dollmaker was going for.

The last part he focused on was the freshly done modification of his crotch. It was hard to ignore considering he stood stark naked in front of the mirror. Lance didn't quite know how else to react to what basically amounted to the Dollmaker castering him. He should be insulted, livid over the fact but Lance only felt tired and acceptance.

How long has it been since he was captured? Weeks? Months? Lance had no way of knowing when all he really knew was that his schedule revolved around the Dollmaker. Everything that had been done to him, the body modifications, the lessons, and the training, they were all carved into his bones, blood, and soul. All to benefit the Dollmaker and shape him into what the Dollmaker wanted.

He existed for the Dollmaker and Lance was tired of fighting back.

“It is good to see you awake.”

Lance turned to see the Dollmaker stepping into the room with Quinn at his side. The door slid shut behind them and locked with a click. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the Dollmaker as Quinn approached him.

“Follow.” Quinn said, taking Lance’s hand and guiding him to a bed centered in the middle of the room. The Dollmaker sat on a throne-like chair directly in front of the bed. Lance had his suspicious before but the fact was definitely cemented in his mind as to what was going to happen. He remained quiet as Quinn guided him to sit, crouching down to hug him for a second time.

Lance blinked in surprise but he smiled softly as he returned the hug, feeling Quinn’s body tremble. “It’ll be okay.”

“One, it is time.”

Quinn nodded as he backed away, heading towards the Dollmaker’s side. Lance watched as the Dollmaker reached out to Quinn, a purple spark of light dancing between his fingers as he touched the side of Quinn’s head. It jumped down along his figure, momentarily lighting up his body before Lance heard the sickening crack of bones.

Quinn collapsed onto his arms and knees, a pained groan emitting from him as the silent room echoed with more cracks of bones. Lance reacted,  immediately running towards Quinn’s side.

“What did you do!?” He shouted, kneeling in front of Quinn as they continued to twist and jerk in pain, hands clawing at the ground. His body seem to grow longer, the skin darkening as Quinn struggled to keep it together. “Stop it, whatever it is you’re doing to him!” His frantic pleas were ignored, the Dollmaker almost looking bored as he watched Quinn.

Lance growled, prying Quinn’s fingers from the floor. The fingertips were bloodied from scratching at the metal floor. Lance forced himself in front of Quinn, letting him grip his hands instead, wincing a bit as Quinn’s claws dug into his skin. His bones stopped breaking but Quinn was still trembling, a pained groan coming from him. Lance felt his own heart beat faster, distressed at the fact that he couldn’t stop what was happening to Quinn.

“Hey, bud, it’s fine, it’s fine,” his words tasted like lies but that was all Lance had. He kept his eyes on Quinn’s featureless face, hoping it would stop soon. The distress kept building up when he noticed a crossed crease forming in the middle of his face.

The crease ran horizontally along Quinn’s face, reaching towards his ears on either side. Another crease, vertically became more defined as it reach over and under the middle of his face. They continued to groan, the robe they wore falling off their body, as the creases on Quinn’s face slowly began to part into four pieces. Lance jerked back as he watched what was once Quinn’s head become the actual stuff of nightmares.

Each of the fleshy piece were covered in jagged teeth, a massive tongue spilling forward from the middle. Quinn crouched on his legs, looking more animalistic and wild and terrifying.

Lance’s heart was trying to burst out his chest as he watched Quinn’s new form.

“H-hey buddy,” Lance started, slowly getting up to his feet.

Quinn's head snapped up, drool dripping from its tongue as he sprung forward. The back of Lance’s head hit the floor with a loud smack, Quinn's towering figure pinning him down.

The teeth looked sharper up close, the flesh undulating around the tongue. Lance’s heart rattled against his chest, eyes locked on the teeth inches away from his face. Quinn trembled, long claws digging into the floor beside his head with a screech.

“Qu...nn sor...y…”

His speech was jagged, spoken and strained with effort and through the fear that bled through Lance, it quelled a little. Quinn didn't want this. Lance didn't want this. But neither had a choice.

The Dollmaker decided for them. He had no autonomy. Not anymore.

But he wasn't alone.

“Its okay, Quinn. You’re good, I promise,” he smiled softly. Quinn’s tongue lapped against his cheek.

“Bring him here, One.”

Quinn jerked, body twitching as Lance was pulled into Quinn's arm, carried into the lap of the Dollmaker. Quinn kept a hand at the back of Lance’s neck, claws digging slightly into his flesh, keeping him still in the Dollmaker’s lap.

“It has taken a while to get to this point but the progress has been worth it,” the Dollmaker said, a hand caressing Lance’s face, fingers tracing his ear. Lance remained quiet, shuddering a little at the touch. “I would like to offer you an option.”

“Is it really an option if it comes from you?” Lance said quicker than his mind could process what he said. The Dollmaker chuckled, a pair of arms holding him around the waist, pulling him closer. Lance watched as another hand caressed his stomach, slowly trailing down and down until he let it rest at the base of his crotch.

“It is,” They replied. “My species have a unique way of claiming their partners. I would like to give you the choice of how you would like to receive me. It can be a pleasant experience or it can hurt,” As they spoke, Lance felt a warm touch to the inside of his spread thighs. He instinctively knew what it was and he reflectively pulled away, only for Quinn to dig his nails deeper into his neck as he positioned Lance back to where he was,

“Ultimately, I want you to enjoy this reward.”

“Give me Quinn,” was Lance’s instant reply. He felt the twitch of surprise from Quinn behind him and if the Dollmaker had an actually face instead of a skull, he could probably imagine a eyebrow cocking in question with that subtle head tilt.

“Hmm?”

Lance glared at the Dollmaker, “I want Quinn to belong to me, only me. You can’t order him around, you can’t force him to turn… turn into _this_ , I want Quinn. Give me him and I’ll submit.”

“Interesting,” they said with a deep chuckle. Lance kept his eyes on the Dollmakers’, determined to not acknowledge the warm touch that was now wrapped around his flaccid dick. “Very well. I will grant you that.”

Lance felt a small bubble of relief pop within in but it was quickly dashed when a hand grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking his head back. Quinn’s gaping mouth lingered over his head, tipping a vial of red liquid into his mouth. He coughed, choking on the liquid, struggling in the Dollmaker’s lap as Quinn slide his long tongue into his mouth. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he felt it fill his mouth, gliding down his throat. Arms held his waist still and he felt a hand caress the bulge in his throat, feeling Quinn slowly fuck its way inside Lance’s throat.

“Do not fear, Lance,” the Dollmaker said. “The aphrodisiac will set in a few seconds. I needed a stimuli to kickstart your arousal.”

Lance swallowed around the tongue, a searing heat spreading throughout his body. Quinn withdrew his tongue, holding Lance’s mouth open to pour another vial into him. His body felt flush, slack against Quinn’s arms and he finally saw what the thing was that was touching his thigh.

It looked like a tentacle, tapered at the point but gradually getting thicker the closer it got to the base of the Dollmaker’s crotch. There were thinner tentacles, wrapped around his half erect cock, covering it in wet sheen of slime. He felt something else press against his bottom, gliding in between his wet cheeks.

“What..?”

Quinn grabbed his thighs and lifted him up, positioning him over the Dollmaker’s lap. There was a second tentacle, longer and thicker than the first.

“..that’s not… gonna fit,” panted Lance. There was a warm weight in the pit of his belly that ached, an urge that wanted that tentacle deep within him. The need and sheer want scared him but his body was having a different opinion. The Dollmaker leaned forward and sunk three fingers into his wet and waiting entrance.

Lance moaned, throwing his head back against Quinn’s shoulder, body quivering as he felt those fingers prod deep into him. This wasn’t… his body couldn’t just accept things… and he definitely couldn’t self lubricate from his ass…

“I adjusted some other parts of your body. Human sexual organs would not withstand my claiming. I made sure your body produced slick when aroused, to make it easier.” Hands gripped his waist and Lance was lowered onto his lap. The tip of the Dollmaker’s tentacle prodded against Lance’s entrance, digging deep and deeper as he was carefully spread open.

It hurt but at the same time it didn't. A low burn was spreading throughout his whole body, nerves lit ablaze as the Dollmaker finally, thankfully, bottomed out. He could feel the Dollmaker in him, undulate and press against his tight walls, pressing this way and that to elicit the soft moans coming out of Lance.

“You are stunning, Lance,” the Dollmaker said, reverence in his voice. Lance shuddered, wanting to fight against the warm feeling that swelled from that comment. A hard thrust left him gasping, body aching for more and mind scrambling to resist and submit. Quinn held his arms behind his back, a hand still gripping the back of Lance’s neck and Lance couldn't tell if that was a blessing or not. They kept him completely still, any form of relief left at the mercy of the Dollmaker’s hand.

The flat of a palm softly pressed against his navel, causing a hitch in Lance’s breath, “D-don’t press like-” Hands gripped his hips and another pair held Lance’s face between them, making him look at the Dollmaker’s face,

“Even now, you are still resisting. Enlighten me, Lance, are you feeling shame?”

Lance averted his gaze, feeling a pair of hands grip his hips as the tentacle in him began to twist rapidly. He bit his lips, hips twitching with the need to move for more friction but fighting the urge to plead for more. Quinn leaned in close from behind, his tongue licking along his neck.

“ _Is it shame you are feeling?_ ”

A hard thrust in, heat pilling and pilling as the words spilled from his lips, “... _yes_!” The tears that were welling along the corners of his eyes spilled over, a sob escaping him as the tentacle in him stilled, Quinn’s grasp on his arms loosening. Lance slumped forwards into the Dollmaker’s chest, breathing heavily.

“You should not feel shame, Lance. Not at this, not at your reward nor for the disappointment you felt when you failed the training simulation,”

Lance jerked, staring back at the Dollmaker as they looked at him, “Your dedication to me has never been more clear.”

He wanted to shake his head, deny that claim, but he felt a sense pride bloom within him. A coy, preening voice whispering yes, yes, _yes._ He shut his eyes, struggling in vain to get away from too many hands keeping him in place, from the tentacle in him pulsing in place.

It was too much.

“It is only fair to reward your dedication, your commitment to _me._ ” A whine escaped Lance as the Dollmaker started to thrust into Lance, deeper than Lance would have thought possible. Hands were on his arms again, holding them behind his back as Quinn straightened him up. His whines became lengthy moans, back arching to get away and get closer at the same time.

That coy voice whispering yes and yes over in his mind was relentless, louder and stronger as the pleasure built up. The Dollmakers hands touched him gently, fingers gliding over his soft skin.

_yes, please more, no no no stop please_

He was on fire, heat blazing through his veins, coiling in his stomach as the Dollmaker continued to drown him in praises and pleasure.

_stop please please, i dont, I want more yes please yes yes_

“ _Your everything is mine_ ,” the Dollmakers’ voice was everywhere, over skin, in his blood, everything in Lance sang praises and loyalty, pride and dedication. He could feel the Dollmakers want for him and Lance felt cherished and loved.

_yes yes please i want please_

“Welcome home, Lance.”

A pain so violent ripped a scream from Lance, concentrated around his neck as it combined with the overwhelming pleasure until his world turned black.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Quinn, back to his normal form, carried a sleeping Lance in his arms, following the Dollmaker into his private chambers. He watched as the Dollmaker took Lance from his arms, carrying Lance to an adjoining room to wash him. Usually that was tasked on Quinn but the Dollmaker was always kinder after claiming a doll.

Especially with Lance.

The Dollmaker was easy with their training for Lance, much gentler. Other dolls have broken under much worse conditions. Lance was lucky.

The Dollmaker came back into the main room, Lance cleaned and draped with a black blanket. He placed Lance on a bed piled with luxuries blankets and pillows. He leaned over Lance, tilting his neck to the side to reveal a new mark on his skin.

It was a simple black line, an inch wide that wrapped around his neck. They pressed a finger against it, watching as Lance whimpered before settling down.

“He will be out for a bit but keep watch over him. Claiming him was still intense despite the modifications and preparation. Perhaps a few more injections with the refined quintessence will help strengthen him once he awakens.”

The Dollmaker hummed in thought, fingers brushing through Lance’s hair before he left the room. Quinn didn’t move until he heard the swoosh of the door closing. Once alone, Quinn adjusted the lights in the bedroom, dimming it down to a soft glow. Going around the room, he gathered more blankets to cover them over Lance’s body, making sure he was careful not to disturb him.

Lance would sleep, he needed the sleep. The Dollmakers’ claiming has always been a intense overwhelming sensory load. Even if they rested, there was always a chance they would not make it.  Quinn vaguely remember the time he was claimed, his brand appearing around his ankles. The first one to survive and remain sound of mind. The first of many.

If he could help it, Quinn would not let the same happen to Lance. He was not alone. Lance would not suffer alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love lance c: 
> 
> because of time and life, the rest of the chapters will be posted once every month, so next chapter will be posted sometime near the end of july, and thanks again for reading a hella self indulgent kink fic ft. ya boi lance 
> 
> also, have you guys seen the 6th season?? lotor!!! KEITH!!!! motherfucking SHIRO!!!! SPACE WOLF!!!!! 
> 
> up next: submissive, compliant, willing, lance, pleased 
> 
> [come scream at me about the 6th season cause i have feelingsss](http://nishiuraboys.tumblr.com)


	5. Results

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apparently can not tell how long a month is.... 
> 
> regardless, enjoy!

As magnificent as the Castle of Lions was, a technological advancement for Alteans in eons past, it has never felt more desperately empty. A castle that carried family and travelers, refugees and the wounded, sheltering Coran and Allura until five humans came together to form Voltron and filled it with life and energy once again felt deserted.

If Allura was the heart of Voltron, Lance was the bonds that kept their spirits up.

Hunk was the first to see Lance floating in space, unconscious beside Blue. The latch had flown open under the barrage of explosions; the white paladin suit a harsh contrast against the backdrop of the universe.

“LANCE!”

Hunk jammed the thruster forwards, his lion roaring as the reinforced claws materialized on the front paws. It made quick work of the smaller ships as Hunk reached the Blue Lion. He could hear the others shout as he scanned for Lance, frantic as it locked on to Lance…

...as he was being pulled into back of a small shuttle, a four armed alien securing Lance’s body onto a chair.

“No, no, no no no.. _NO_!” Hunk rushed after the shuttle with a single focus, vision locked on to the open back of the shuttle. Lance was strapped to the chair, the kidnapper holding on to a harness as it stared at the Yellow Lion.

Hunk couldn't let them get away. He needed to move faster, could feel the strain it was putting on his Lion but he was just as determined as Hunk to get Lance back.

“Hunk, on your left!”

Shiro’s voice cut through as the remaining ships begam to kamikaze into his side. Hunk was blown back, cockpit flashing red as multiple parts of his Lion signalled heavy damage taken. He grunted as he managed to maneuver his Lion away from the last ships, pivoting around to take them down with his laser beam when he noticed they were retreating.

“They have Lance! They’ve taken him into the ship,” Hunk shouted, looking over the dashboard as he tried get his Lion up to move again.

“They’re attempting to warp jump!” Coran shouted.

“Allura, drop the shield and aim full power at the ship,” Shiro barked out the order, Black Lion rushing towards the enemy ship as Allura fired up the cannon.

The ship ahead of Shiro steadily got further away, no matter how much Shiro urged his Lion forward. And in a second, he saw the tell tell distortion surround the ship as it warp jumped away, the Castle Ship’s laser firing at empty space.

The ship had escaped, along with Lance. The only evidence of their fight were the debris of wrecked ships floating amongst the empty space.

The following 48 hours were a blur of reaching out to connections and gathering information. Sharing the image of the ship with The Blade of Marmora to see if they had any info on it. Pidge camped out in the command room with Allura and Coran as they searched.

Keith attempted to help, but with the Blade already contacted and Allura working with the coalition, there was nothing he could do. Instead, he stalked off to the training deck. The anger and disappointment in himself, the rampant _worry_ that shook him was too much to handle. He needed something to do with his hands. Preferably something that involved punching.

“Set the training level to 10,” he all but growled as he entered the training deck, bayard already transformed in his hand.

Hunk was unnaturally quiet, staring at the multiple displays Coran and Allura were going through. He wanted to help, knew he could help out Pidge with their search but he was frozen in place. Eyes glued to an image of Lance, floating in space, unconscious and vulnerable.

If he had been faster, had gotten his Lion to start back up, maybe Lance would still be with them. He could have done so many things different, could have...

“Hey,” Shiro clapped his hand on Hunk’s shoulder. “There’s no use thinking about how you could have done things differently.”

“How…?”

“I recognized the look,” he said with a wiry smile. “Try not to beat yourself up. We’ll get him back, Hunk. I swear it.”

 

* * *

 

It was a long wait before they even heard about the whereabouts of the ship, much less Lance.

A month after the kidnapping, the Blade had managed to catch sight of the ship and had one of their operatives attempt to infiltrate it. A few days later, they traced their members SOS transmission and found their comrade dead in the pilot seat.

“This doesn't make sense,” Allura sat at the table in the common lounge, hands clenched together on the table. “If they were after a paladin of Voltron, we would have heard from them. Some sort of threat or bargaining chip.”

“We know its someone not aligned with Zarkon,” Shiro pipped in, carrying two cups of steaming space tea. He handed one over, Allura nodding in thanks as she wrapped her hands around the cup. The heat soothed the ache and tension in her palms but the worry and anxiety were still there,

“Zarkon wouldn't have left the Blue Lion or put up more of a fight to get it. As soon as they had Lance, they started to retreat.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing,” Allura said. She could feel a headache coming on, fingers lifting away from the cup to rub her temples.

“Maybe it was an attempt to slow down the coalition. Now that we have Olkarion back and based as home command, it has been getting easier to gain more alliances. Take a paladin to impede our progress and keep Voltron busy with the rescue.” Shiro added.

Allura shook her head, “We still would have heard from them, a demand or threat. We have nothing.”

They became silent, both lost in their thoughts. They could only wait for information and that was frustrating.

To further add blow to injury, the Blue Lion had raised its’ particle shield the day after Lance’s kidnapping and has refused to turn it off. While it was fine for a few days, the team couldn't form Voltron and have had some near misses with the Galra army as a result.

“We have to wait,” Allura said as she stood, hating how the words sounded useless. “Hopefully, the Blade or Pidge will find more clues. We must have faith in them and in Lance. For now, I suppose I should talk to the Blue Lion again.”

It was another three months before they had their next sighting. By then, everyone had noticed the void Lance left behind.

Battles with the Galra left them weary but with each planet they freed, each mission successfully accomplished filled them with hope. It was when they were thanked, were ushered into celebratory parties from refugees or inhabitants of recently freed planets that they noticed a certain spark gone.

Lance usually was the life of those parties. Drinking and eating with gusto as he retold the fight with exaggerated flourish. He talked to everyone, engaging with their culture and customs. Lance was shameless but relentlessly himself, often easing Shiro into easy conversations to relax. He dragged Pidge and Hunk to the tables full of food to sample. Some being more of a dare than actually sampling. He orchestrated chants with Keith in the hope that one day, when he shouted ‘Vol’ Keith would finally end it with ‘Tron’.

Smile wide and bright, he turned those small celebrations into a much more meaningful occasion. He breathed life into those moments and made it possible to remember that life was more than living in fear of Zarkon.

Now the celebrations were smaller, much more quieter. The mood, while still cheerful, was missing something and the team knew what that was.

When they were over, the team board the castleship again to pursue the Galra or hope the Blade had information on Lance.

 

* * *

 

_Radio static filled his ears, Lance looking behind him as he eyed a small triangular drone make its way to a large crystal in the ceiling of a ship. He didn't know why but that was bad. He turned, shouting nothing at a figure obscured in writhing black lines._

_Pain blossomed across his back and a piercing sound rang through his ears as he saw the writhing black lines define itself, shaping into the Dollmakers figure. There is relief amongst the pain as the static blinded him._

_“No!”_

Lance woke with a start, bolting upright from his bed. His breathing came out ragged, claws gripping the bed sheet so intensely that they ripped into the mattress. The blood under his skin hummed almost painfully, nerves too sensitive and exposed as if he was flayed.

He cried out, arms wrapped tightly around his thighs, curling forward until his face was pressed against his knees, needing the static to go away.

His existence was radio noise, nerves raw and vulnerable, body craving a pressure he couldn't piece together. Not with all the noise filling his mind and his thoughts and his blood.

He was going to die.

He was going to die with static in his mind and pain in his bones. He was going to die screaming for an unfathomable ache as if something had been ripped from his soul.

He was going to die...

He was dying and it hurt…

He was dying and..

Suddenly, Lance could breath as warm pressure gripped the back of his neck. The static that filled his mind slowly began to fade away, nerves finally calming down and skin stitching back together.

“Steady your breathing, Lance.” The Dollmaker’s voice cut through the static, warm and comforting, providing him the pressure he needed.  

Lance listened to their instructions, steadying his breathing until he no longer felt like he was going to suffocate. The pressure around his neck was still there, occasionally squeezing harder to keep him grounded. He could collect his thoughts, piece together his last known memories to figure out what in the quiznack happened to him.

The Dollmaker… Lance remembered the glow to their eyes, too many hands on his body, the force of their grip on his waist as he took in more and more of their….

Lance twitched, face burning red as he heard a soft chuckle beside him. They squeezed the back of his neck again and Lance felt his muscles relax.

“I would enjoy seeing your face at some point.” They said. He felt the hand slowly lift from his neck, could feel the edges of static waiting to consume him again. Lance whined, reaching back to clamp their hand back down.

“Don't you dare,” he growled, voice sounding a bit rough and unused. “You…. What happened… after?”

“The Claiming took a toll on your body despite my efforts to make sure your body could handle the process. I had to induce a coma on you in order to heal you.”

“Coma… How long?”

“Two weeks in the pod. One week out of the pod in your room.” They answered. Lance wasn’t sure what exactly to think about that. He never knew what to think in regards to the Dollmaker, hard to read the expression of a weird alien skull. There were so many questions, so many damn questions that he wanted answer for but right now, he didn’t have the energy to ask. Not when he couldn’t seem to function without their hand keeping the pressure to the back of his neck. Their touch was staving off the static that threaten to engulf him again and he couldn’t, absolutely couldn’t go through that again.

“Lance,” they spoke and Lance could feel it in his bones. “Lift your head for me and I can explain anything you want to know.” The Dollmaker sounded so soft, concern laced in his voice.

“Don’t let go,” he whispered.

“I will not let go.” They repeated and Lance believed him.

Lance nodded and he uncurled himself, letting go of his thighs as he straightened upright again. He felt tired but the sort of tired that came from sleeping too much. The blanket was pooled around his lap, taking note that he was naked. Keeping his hand on Lance’s neck, the Dollmaker stood up and he guided Lance off the bed.

Supporting his weight by wrapping another arm around Lance’s waist and pulling him close to their side, the Dollmaker walked over to the washroom, standing the two of them in front of a massive mirror.

Lance glanced at himself, noting the usual modifications the Dollmaker had given him. His pupiless blue eyes, the claws and ears, being castrated, everything that the Dollmaker wanted to shape him was there for him to see in full display. There was nothing new… except for a black band around his neck? He reached for it, surprised when he realized it was more like a tattoo.

“What…” 

“You have survived my Claiming and that is proof and reward for your survival,” they said. They pressed a finger against the mark, a gentle tap, and suddenly Lance was drowning.

He was being overwhelmed by possession and pride, intangible feelings that made Lance feel as if he was valued beyond comparison. Lance realized, amidst the flood of emotions, that they were the Dollmaker’s feeling. He was drowning but he could breathe, the feelings wrapping around him like fire. And it felt _good._

He surfaced with a gasp, vision clearing until he saw the Dollmakers face, glowing white eyes watching him with fierce intensity.

Finally, _finally_ , he understood the Dollmaker’s intentions. Everything he endured, the training and punishments, the modifications to his body, it was all for his benefit. He needed to be changed, molding into the Dollmaker’s ideal so Lance could be bonded to him. Bonded and claimed and possessed like he’s never known, wanted and needed, thoughts flashing back to the claiming.

Claws digging into his thighs, beads of blood mixing with sweat and heat surrounding him from all sides. His neck burned but it didn’t hurt, not when he was being filled to the brim. His head was tilted back, tongue pushing into his mouth and throat and Lance felt a hum of approval from in front of him.

There was something missing…

Someone….

“Quinn!” Lance easily broke away from the Dollmaker, stumbling over his feet as he rushed out the washroom. The static came back immediately, tripping him over his own feet but Lance ignored it. This was important. Quinn was important.

Quinn was by the bed, how Lance had not seen him in the first place was odd but the relief he felt, seeing their face again, was immense. Plain and featureless, standing tall in his cloak and not writhing in pain, head split into four teeth-riddled, drooling segments.

Lance rushed forward, surprising Quinn with a hug. He chirped in surprise but Lance felt him return the hug and that was good.

“Lance? Lance okay?”

“Lance is okay,” Lance said, smiling as he stepped back. The static was getting stronger but not nearly as body crippling as before. Instincts were screaming at him to go back to the Dollmaker, needed their presence and touch to chase the noise away. With clenched teeth, he tried his best to push it aside.

“You gave me your word,” Lance said, protectively standing in front of Quinn. The static seeped deeper into his skin, following into his blood but Lance held his gaze.  

Never again will Quinn be forced to shift into whatever it was the Dollmaker had down. Not on his watch. Quinn had become such an important friend and having to watch them shift without giving their consent, it was gut-wrenching. If it meant defying the Dollmaker, and he could feel his body protest at the mere idea, pain lashing against his head, then he would defy the Dollmaker.

“Quinn is _mine_.”

“Of course,” they said, sounding amused. “I will keep my promise. One is yours.”

Lance stared at them for a moment, body still tense until he realized they were telling the truth. He could feel their sincerity through their newly established bond. Quinn was safe.  

He visibly relaxed and gave in to the urge to be by the Dollmakers side. The static and noise ebbing away as he essentially plastered himself to their side. A hand settled against the back of his neck, squeezing and relaxing him even further until all the pain was gone.

There was something else wrong, a nagging feeling that tried to tell him this wasn't natural. There was something more. But he was tired and the Dollmaker was talking, picking him up and carrying him out the room. Lance called out to Quinn, asking him to follow but that was all the energy he had.

He was missing something but Lance couldn't be bothered to try and remember. Not when the static was quiet and the Dollmaker warm.

 

* * *

 

For awhile, Lance couldn’t leave the Dollmaker’s side without the static crippling him.

The Dollmaker had explained it was a side effect of their claiming. The static would gradually leave on its own, once their bond was more solidified by the passage of time. As the days passed, Lance could gradually hold up on his own, for a few minutes until the static creeped back.  

More often than not, Lance spent his time by the Dollmaker’s side. The Dollmaker usually sat at the console in the ship’s control room, five of his hands working on different holo-screens, a sixth one always on the back of Lance’s neck where he stood by their side.

Lance couldn’t read what the words were on display so he often found himself dozing off, surprised at first how easy he felt around them. He knew that wasn’t always the case but as time passed, Lance found it harder and harder to remember why he felt hostile in the first place.

“Why am I here?” Lance asked one day. It was only a few days since he had woken up.

“You were wasted potential as a paladin of Voltron.”

That meant something important. Or at least it did.

The pride that he felt was like a small beacon of light smothered by the stress of being the Blue Paladin. Stereotyped and regulated as the one who couldn’t be taken seriously, no matter how hard he tried. Constantly shut down at meetings or his ideas ignored simply because he was Lance.

The goofball.

The idiot.

“You are wanted here.”

Lance shuddered, doubts writhing away by the Dollmaker’s statement. A finger pressed against the mark around his neck, the Dollmaker’s reassuring emotions steadying him on his feet. He whined at the lost, aiming a glare at the Dollmaker whom merely chuckled and went back to their multiple screens.

Their hand never left the back of his neck and Lance settled back into a comfortable trance, still soaking in the Dollmaker’s emotion that surged through his veins.

True to their word, the static feeling eventually faded. While he no longer needed to be near the Dollmaker, Lance was always around them. Until his curiosity got the best of him and he eventually explored the ship.

He’d only been familiar with the training deck and the various rooms he was confined to in the beginning. He had his own room now, one he shared with Quinn per his own request, in the same corridor as the Dollmaker’s. Aside from the console room, the rest of the ship was unknown and Lance decided to make a day out of it.

Most of it was listening to Quinn point out specific rooms throughout his personalized tour guide but it was relaxing.

Quinn seemed more at ease around him. He spoke more in his clipped way, more vocal and had a subtle wit to them. Quinn still followed the Dollmaker’s orders but Lance had made it clear, vehemently clear, that he would never be forced to shift. Not for the Dollmaker and definitely not for Lance. Another servant had taken over Quinn’s role as the Dollmaker’s assistant and now Quinn strictly followed Lance wherever he went.

“Quinn, doesn’t the Dollmaker have any more like us?”

“More Dolls? Yes. Dollmaker stores the favorites and discards the rest. Some Dolls do not survive claiming. Parts sold, rest burned. Other Dolls auctioned away.”

“Where do they store the others?”

Quinn nodded and led Lance towards the upper decks, stopping in front of a section of the wall. Quinn pressed his hand to a panel and it lit up. A second later, the wall slide up into the ceiling, revealing a hidden room.

“Lance also has access.” Quinn said as he walked in.

A bit tentatively, Lance followed. The room was dimly lit, noticeably cooler than the corridor they were just in. Quinn was ahead of him, pressing a few buttons on a small panel and the room lit up in a soft red light. Large cylinders lit up a few rows at a time, each row containing five containers. The rows went quite a bit far back, the room unexpectedly longer than he first thought. Some of the containers were empty, only filled with fluid while others were occupied.

Lance walked up to the nearest container, eyes caught on the alien suspended in the fluid.

They were humanoid shaped, at least the head and torso were, long black hair floating around their head. Their skin was a dark caramel color, similar to his own, black markings along their torso until it disappeared into black fur. The rest of the body was more of a four-legged feline shape, fur as pitch black as the hair with gold markings along its back, twin tails curled around each other. A mask covered their nose and mouth and a few cables were hooked to their arms. At the base of the container was a small display and panel, a heart beat monitor, and text he couldn’t read.

Lance quietly explored the rest, various aliens of shapes and sizes contained in their liquid pods. He spotted a Galra, lithe in stature but strong and tall. A few pods down he even spotted a few Alteans along with a Balmeran and a Mer. He explored the room, trying to figure out a pattern to the Dollmaker’s taste. When Lance thought he figured it out, he’d come across another alien that didn’t quite fit the mold.

But the one thing he could see was that all of the aliens were well taken cared for, all of them looking as if they were peacefully sleeping.

Lance walked back to the front of the room, eyes again on the first pod he looked at.

He wasn’t sure if he was afraid or jealous. The others may be vastly different from one another but they were all _beautiful._ Prime examples and the best of their species, no doubtedly trained and bonded to the Dollmaker.

The Dollmaker would never settle for less.

“Are they… do they come out of their pods?”

“When Dollmaker wishes so. Dolls here are treasured. Always ready to wake and serve Dollmaker.”

“Have you been in one of these?”

Quinn nodded, “Deca-phoeb. A hundred deca-phoebs total. Quinn served Dollmaker for half of Dollmaker’s life.”

“How old are they?”

“10,000 deca-phoebs.”

Lance’s jaw nearly dropped, “Five thousand years!” He hissed, quickly slapping his hands over his mouth as he looked around. No one in their containers stirred and Lance figured they were either sound proof or artificially induced into a deep sleep but it felt weird to speak too loudly.

“That… that is a lot of years, buddy.”

“Time subjective.” Lance slapped his hand over his mouth again, to stifle a laugh this time.

“Listen, when I ask you to wake me up in a few, I don’t always mean to _wake me up in a few doboshes_ . That’s usually code for ‘I’m taking a nap, wake me up in a few _vargas_ ’!”

Quinn tilted his head to the side, just a bit, and chirped, “Lance should specify.”

Lance grinned, recognizing the teasing tone and was about to speak when he felt the back of his neck tingle. He turned towards the door, subconsciously standing at attention as the Dollmaker walked in.

They didn’t need to speak, Lance could feel the approval from them and he wanted to preen.

Their silent communication, whatever it was, was a new change Lance had noticed in himself. With the static fully gone, he felt attuned to the Dollmaker in a strange way. He could feel that the connection was fresh and sometimes he misinterpreted signals but he was getting better at reading them. Better at submitting to the feeling and following its orders.

“You may relax,” they said. Lance eased his stance, feeling Quinn do the same. “It is a bit sudden but I will be attending an auction near the Quantum Abyss. Normally, I have One accompany me but I will have you join as well.”

“What are we going to do?”

“One will assist me with the auction, per usual. In time, I will have One teach you but not right now. You, Lance, will serve me and only me. I will demand your full attention and as it is your debut, no one is allowed to touch you. No one aside from One and myself,” Somehow the Dollmaker had gotten closer, cupping Lance’s face and grasping the back of his neck. He was pinned down by their gaze and nothing else mattered except for the Dollmaker,

“Tear their arms off if they so much as lay a finger on you. Show them the fire that lurks beneath your delicate form. Will you do that for me?”

Lance whined, dragging one of their hands to touch their neck. To touch the brand on his neck because words wouldn’t be able to convey the resounding _yes_ that echoed within him. He needed to let the Dollmaker know that he would do anything.

Anything the Dollmaker wanted, Lance would carry it out.

He was going to make damn sure the universe knew who he belonged to.

 

* * *

 

Kolivan grimly stared at the display. The sound was muted, the screams in the video too horrid. Regris sat at his console, tapping away at keys until the video froze. A section was cropped and enlarge, the pixels filtering until the image cleared.

“Is that…” Thace looked at the image, not quite sure if he believed what he saw.

“Regris, get in contact with Voltron. We found Lance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: The auction is gonna get LIT FAM


	6. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im the worst at keeping schedule orz
> 
> edited to the best of my abilities which is not much considering i edited this at 3:30 in the morning

Just on the outskirts of the Quantum Abyss, built into the remains of a destroyed moon and made to be discreet was the supposed market the Dollmaker was heading for. Or so they said. Lance couldn’t see anything through the display, only the pitch black of space, debris of long destroyed planets and its shattered moons, and the distant stars.

The ship would be arriving at a planet not too far from the auction house. Any ships visiting the auction had to stop by the planet first, to verify their identity and take a shuttle to the location. A precaution, the Dollmaker had said. There was a reason an auction house such as this one had survived for so long.

Lance was looking down at the hanger, watching sentries load up shuttles with pods and containers. Quinn was down with the sentries and the few other living servants as they listened to Quinn direct them. It was the most activity he’d seen on the ship since the Dollmaker had brought him in.

“Lance, we will be arriving soon.” The Dollmaker’s voice broke over the speakers. “Come get ready.”

 

* * *

 

The atmosphere on the mostly desolate planet, if it could be called a planet, was thin. The Dollmaker's ship was behind him, partially cloaked as he stood off to the side of the Dollmaker as they conducted business with a galra who worked for the auction house.

Quinn was beside the Dollmaker, reading off a list of what they would auctioning. It was customary, as well as a screening process before they would be allowed into the auction house. There was so much secrecy but considering what was being offered, it made sense.

Regardless, that wasn't a problem for Lance. He only had one task and so far, there was nothing around to distract him from the Dollmaker.

They were dressed in their usual black robe, gold trimmings along the hems. The jewels and chains decorating his horns matched the gold, glinting with each subtle shift of their body. He stood his full height, making the galra in front of them seem comparatively small despite the galra’s tall stature.

Quinn wore the same robe, held back over his shoulder by a gold broach in the shape of a horned skull. One that looked very similar to the Dollmaker's own head.

Lance managed to stifle a snort, tucking away that piece of information when they were alone again.

A shift of movement from the corner of his eyes caught Lance’s attention. It was a shimmer in the air, heading towards the Dollmaker. Lance eyed it, taking small steps towards the Dollmaker as a bad feeling crawled down his spine.

The shimmer in the air rippled, seemingly breaking away to reveal a glint of sharpened metal.

“Dollmaker!” Lance shouted, breaking into a run towards them. He unsheathed a dagger from a holster around his thigh and tossed it towards the shimmer in the air, surprised when he heard a hurt cry.

Bracing himself in front of the Dollmaker, he watched as a vaguely familiar alien appeared out of the air, blood running down its injured arm. It clutched a sharpened piece of shrapnel in its’ hand. With a feline body covered in black fur with a humanoid face and upper torso; the attacker looked like a near replica of the alien he’d seen nights ago in the pod inside of the Dollmakers’ collection of previous Dolls.

“Give me my sister back!!” He growled, the nails on their clawed hands sharpening to deadly points as they ran towards the Dollmaker.

Lance didn't need to think as he rushed up to him, swiftly ducking under a swipe of their hand. The attack was too wide to follow up an attack and Lance gripped their arm, using their moment to bodily toss the stranger head over heels into the ground.

“Did they mind wash you too!?” They snarled, bucking Lance off and scrambling to their feet. “My fight is not with you, walk away.”

“I can't if you're attacking the Dollmaker. You should leave.”

The stranger seemed to balk, not quite expecting the warning Lance was giving him, “You… you’re human, right? I've seen your kind before and you don't look like your standard human. Everything that that monster has done, is that what you wanted too!?”

“I'm what he wants me to be,” was Lance’s immediate response. No hesitation, no doubt, he spoke the honest truth. “Well, I can do without the surgeries. Not really a fan but..”

Lance trailed off with a shrug.

He heard a rich deep chuckle from behind him, could feel their amusement pulse their bond. Lance kept his eyes on the attacker, adjusting his grip on the dagger, “I can’t let you harm the Dollmaker. Turn back. Please.”

A bitter laugh escaped the alien, eyes full of hate and stubborn determination as he glared at the Dollmaker, “They stole my sister and twisted her into something she would have hated if her mind was still intact. Invaded my village for spare _parts_ for their sick experimentation. Kept invading and stealing and murdering my family and friends until the few of us that were left had to flee our planet!!”

Lance gulped, his stance wavering a bit as he looked at the alien. On a closer inspection, there were a few differences between him and his sister. He didn’t know the species intimately to be able to tell but from his own surgeries and what he’d seen in the Dollmaker’s collection, the idea of them raiding and pillaging for bodies didn’t seem far fetched. The reason for this visit to a region of space so unpredictable and unstable was specifically to sell bodies and organs. And maybe acquire new bodies.

Wasn’t that how the Dollmaker found him? Took him away from… voltron?

The sensation of static creeped along his mind and Lance vigorously shook his head, keeping it at bay as he steadied himself. There wasn’t time for that now, not when there was a threat to the Dollmaker.

“Please, turn back.” Lance tried once more. He felt for the kid, who seemed young, but he had a task he couldn’t fail.

The boy shifted his gaze towards Lance, pity replacing the hate, “I'm not leaving until they die and if you stand in my way, I'll end your misery alongside my sister with what remaining dignity you still have.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro and the others watched in disbelieving horror as Lance subdued the feline centaur-esque alien with dangerous precision. The alien was quick, sidestepping swipes of a dagger and managing to get Lance on the ground a few times but there was a fierce tenacity and single minded focus in Lance that Shiro often saw when Lance had a sniper in his hands.

It wasn't going to end well for the alien.

Within moments, Lance had pinned the alien underneath him and slammed the blunt end of the dagger against the alien’s head. They struggled against Lance, snarling and attempting to bite at his arms but Lance was too quick. Faster than they could see, Lance drove a dagger through the alien’s arm.

The cries that pierced the videos’ audio sent shivers down their spines. Pidge had looked away when Lance used another dagger to strike it through their palm.

Hunk turned away and clamped his hands over his ears when the alien began to cry and beg.

“Doll?”

The faceless alien spoke, voice warbled and oddly childlike. Approaching Lance and the pinned alien underneath him, they knelt in front of them, a pair of hands ghosting over their chest.

“ _Stop your pleading.”_

The skull-faced alien spoke, a resonating echo that somehow silenced the whimpering alien. Shiro and the others were just as surprised as the alien, as he seemingly stopped begging. They still cried and tried to speak but nothing was heard.

“Temperament easy to mend. Good health. Young. Minimal scarring. Dollmaker approve?”  

They were talking about the alien as it were a product and Lance… Lance didn’t bat an eye at the conversation. He was focused on keeping the alien pinned with strength Shiro knew Lance couldn’t naturally possess. The attacker may be young but he was big enough to weigh at least 200 pounds. Maybe more.

Something beside the physical changes they could see happened to Lance. The Lance Shiro knew would _never_ let what was happening before him keep happening. Or even participate in it.

As it was, Lance kept his eyes on the towering skull headed alien with glowing eyes, waiting for a command. Waiting eyes that had been altered, somehow, into an all encompassing pupiless blue. Eyes that didn't hold an ounce of fear or rebellion, only loyalty.

“As tempting as it would be to collect another of your kind, you do not meet my standards. Lance, kill him-”

Shiro smashed his palm against the panel, cutting the recording short.

“Kolivan… Give us a moment.”

“Of course.”

The moment the screen blinked off, Keith was the one who shattered the tension, “That wasnt Lance!”

“Keith..” Shiro began, hands up in a placating gesture.

“No! That wasn't… that can't be Lance! He wouldn't…”

“Did he?” Hunk’s voice trailed after Keith’s, soft spoken but sure. “Shiro, did Lance kill that guy?”

“Yes.”

Shiro didn't feel the need to tell them what happened afterward.

“The galra that was beside Lance is a member of the Blade. Kolivan has been tracking down trafficking operations, most which are run by galran generals. This one in particular is infamous for being hard to track and his agent on the inside has recently been promoted to the ranks where he was access to the actual auction house.

“A few vargas ago, Kolivan notified us of Lance, what you guys just saw…”

“What the hell are we still doing here! We know where he is, right? We should already be on our way rescuing him!” Keith nearly shouted, cutting Shiro off.

Nearly eight months of searching and digging and finally, they knew where Lance was!

“It's complicated.”

“How!? We have the location, right? We take the lions, form Voltron and get Lance the hell away from those freaks!”

“Keith, enough,” Shiro wasn't angry but the palapabe sternness in his voice was enough to stop Keith from speaking out again.

“We take the lions and get Lance back. What about the slaves? Do we just ignore them? Do we ignore Kolivan’s work tracking down the site or the time it took to finally get one of his men to infiltrate the place deep enough to even have access to the site? I understand your frustration, Keith, _I do_ , but we can’t run head first without first looking.

“We have his location, a comet on the outskirts of the Quantum Abyss. According to Kolivan’s agent, the site holds its’ auctions at the end of the week. The days leading up is more of a… social gathering event, previewing and… sampling the captives. We’ll be working with Kolivan with two main goals; saving Lance and shutting down the auctions operation. Take a break and meet up at the bridge in an hour.”

Shiro left no room for argument and he watched as Hunk, Pidge, and Keith filed out the lounge room. As soon as they left, Shiro slumped back against the couch, feeling far too old and tired. He stared up at the ceiling, mind replying the parts of the video he didn't let the others see.

“How did it go?”

Shiro hadn't even heard the doors swish open, feeling the couch dip as Allura sat beside him.

“As well as it could have gone. And you?”

“I've never seen Coran so frightened. The skull headed alien, they’re called the Dollmaker. What I could gather from Coran, they’re not supposed to be real. A bedtime monster in order to keep children from carelessly exploring the galaxy.”

“This is going to get worse before it gets better, huh.”

“I'm afraid so.”

 

* * *

 

Water poured over Lance’s hands, nails scraping over skin to get rid of the blood. Water turned scalding hot ran clear over his hands yet blood still stained them.

He did well. Lance did so well, could feel the hot approval from the Dollmaker as he ended the kids’ life. He did such a good job. Didn’t fail at his task yet Lance couldn’t stop the guilt racking at his chest. He couldn’t get rid of the blood, no matter how much he scrubbed and clawed at his hands.

The difference between taking down a training sentry and ending a life was two vastly different feelings. Sentries sparked and jerked before they fell silent. No tears, no pleading, they just fell silent and remained still.

A life struggled into the bitter end, their body gradually cooling as they die. Their expression frozen in time of what they were feeling; terror, in this case. Dark blood spreading and congealing around them, staining everything it came in contact with. The ground, their clothes, Lance’s hands.

Dying was messy and dramatic.

He scrubbed and scrubbed and the blood remained on his skin, as if it was inked into him.

“Lance.” Quinn's voice was gentle, a hand reaching out to turn off the facet as another hand pulled Lance’s hands back.

The blood was gone but he’d rub his skin raw. Letting Quinn take the lead, he was taken to his room and Quinn guided him to sit on the edge of his bed. He pulled a vial out from his robe, flicking the lid off as he grabbed Lance’s hands and poured the content over them.

The quintessence soaked into his skin, mending flesh until they were healed. Quinn patted the back of his healed hands, chipping slightly as they looked at Lance.

“Okay? Lance upset. Distressed.”

“I…”

Words died in his throat, unable to speak or make sense of his thoughts. He wanted to curl up and sleep, somehow will away the wrongness that seemed to inch its’ way into his bones. He did good, he know he did, but the echoing pleading sobs and the phantom blood on his hands said otherwise.

“No.”

Lance blinked, confused until he looked down and noticed Quinn had stopped him from clawing at his hands again.

“Sorry, I…”

“Lance is kind. Heart too good. Dollmaker must be careful with Lance next time. Quinn will see to it.”

Lance blinked, turning the phrase over in his mind, “Did… was that a threat? To the Dollmaker?”

“Threat too strong. Suggestion is better.”

The image of Quinn standing in front of the Dollmaker, and berating him, was too much of a mental image not react too. Even with the guilt and wrongness he was feeling, Lance burst out laughing at the thought. Of a Quinn wagging a finger or two at the Dollmaker. It was ridiculous and the more he thought about it, the more he ended up wheezing with hysterical giggles.

Somehow, longer than he would like to admit, he calmed down. Face warm and stomach hurting slightly from laughing, Lance felt marginally better. Quinn was standing in front of him, head tilted curiously at him.

“Thank you, Quinn.” It was silly but Quinn had distracted Lance enough to the point where he didn’t feel quite as awful. The guilt was still there, Lance could still hear the pleading and the sobbing but it seemed distant now. He was itching to go to the Dollmakers’ side, instinctively knowing they’ll be able to make the rest of his guilt go away.

“First kill always hard,” Quinn said, taking Lance’s hand and helping him to his feet. “Dollmaker chose poorly but Lance did well. The kill was swift. He did not suffer needlessly. Now, follow me.”

“Where are we going?” He asked as he trailed beside Quinn, hand still clutching Quinns’.

“To scold Dollmaker.”  

 

* * *

 

Multiple screenshots of the skull-faced alien, the Dollmaker as Conran had introduced them, cluttered the holo-screen, most grainy or zoomed in and pixelated. The clearest shots of them were from the video Kolivan sent them, Lance standing by their side in a few of them. In their own corner were a few shots of Lance, most zoomed up pictures of his physical changes, the lingering question of what other changes he'd gone through unanswered. The screenshots couldn't answer that.

Allura was coordinating with Kolivan, the galra sharing all the information he had on the Dollmaker. As Coran had given the team a brief tale of what he heard of the Dollmaker from old Altean bedtime stories, Kolivan had filled the rest with rare sightings and reports of the Dollmaker, kidnappings gone unnoticed that he linked to the alien, and a handful of autopsy reports of suspected captives.

“They sound worse than Zarkon, if that's even possible.” Keith said, glaring at the images, arms crossed over his chest. Impatience was running through his skin, most of it stemming from the growing fear for Lance as they learned more and more about Dollmaker.

“So, what's the plan?”

“We'll be working with the Blade,” Allura said, turning to face the others. “The first step is infiltrating the auction and shut down their communications. With their network cut off, they won't be able to call for backup. Or alert the Empire,

“Uh, yes Hunk?”

Hunk had raised his hands, “This means someone is going into the place. I want to volunteer for that part.”

“Hunk…”

“He was right there in front of me and I couldn't reach him. I can't let him down again…”

“You haven't failed him,” Allura said. “By that logic, the failure should rest on me, for not spotting Dollmaker's ship in time or for initially sending Keith, Lance, and Shiro to deal with the fighter ships. In order to bring Lance back home, we need everyone to play their strengths.”

“Allura is right,” Shiro said. “Pidge will be working with Regris to keep their network offline. I need you with Allura to provide cover once we give the signal to start escorting the slaves back to the castle. With Kolivan's guy on the inside, Keith and I will be able to enter under the pretense as buyers.

“We have a few days to prepare, Kolivan and Regris will meet us tomorrow. We're initiating the plan on the 6th day, a day before the bidding starts. And no matter what, we're bringing Lance back.”

 

* * *

 

Quinn waits.

He waits and watches as Dollmaker claims Lance and does not participate because Lance is considerate. The most Quinn does is hold Lance’s hand because Lance asked him and Quinn does not want to say no.

Dollmaker's hand is on Lance's throat, overwhelming Lance through their bond, drowning Lance in praises for the first kill. A tactic he had seen throughout the ages but, this time, Quinn is conflicted.

Lance gripped Quinn's hand harder, body arching away from Dollmaker as he moans and ejaculates. Lance goes limps against Dollmaker, passed out but still holding Quinn's hand. Dollmaker pets Lance's head, trailing down to the back of his neck, a finger brushing against the black brand around Lance's neck.

“Too kind… Those were your words.”

Quinn nods, “Lance first kill traumatic. Should not have been. Caution must be taken to not stress Lance. Lance prone to unintentional self harm when stressed and conflicted.”

“With time and more Claims, that will be fixed. The potential in Lance is beginning to shine and I will admit I am a bit hasty in crafting Lance towards that potential. He will become my best and I am eager to see that realized.”

Quinn looks at Lance's sleeping face, that foreign feeling of conflict once again rising. Quinn leans in closer, taking Lance into his arms as Dollmaker orders Quinn to clean Lance. A task Dollmaker normally handles after a Claim but they had priorities with the upcoming auctions. With the inventory of organs and bodies tallied up and ported to the site for display, Quinn’s task was delegated to caretaker for Lance for the remaining movement.

Quinn takes Lance to their room and cleans him up. Lance barely wakes through the process and soon he is clean and sleeping on his bed.

He takes a seat next to the bed, ready to wait until Lance wakes. After a claim, Lance always wakes disoriented and disliked waking alone.

While he waits, Quinn thinks of past Dolls and tries to sort through a feeling he has not felt in thousands of deca-phoeb. It is a complicated affair, sorting through emotions and after a few hours, he gives up. Maybe once upon a time, he could have come up with an answer to the feeling but Quinn knows he is too dissociated from his emotions.

So he looks at the facts.

Lance is kind. Lance gave him a name. Lance smiles and jokes with him. Quinn can acknowledge that Lance may have talked to him because Quinn was the only one around during his initial captivity but Lance remained kind after his first Claiming.

Lance fought against Quinn's second form while suffering from the initial effects from his claiming. A form Quinn was long used to shifting to against his will, for his will did not matter when Dollmaker triggered the shift in him. Lance fought against a crucial period of time that cemented their new intimate bond with Dollmaker by causing them pain if they weren't near Dollmaker. A phase Quinn had been through and seen hundreds of time, knows that only Dollmaker is on their mind during that phase.

Lance remembered Quinn and kept a promise Quinn had not expected to be upheld.

“Buddy, you're chirping…”

Lance's voice is hoarse, sleep still clinging to him as he drowsily looks at Quinn with smile.

“Lance needs more sleep, Quinn will stop.”

“Quinn needs to pile… up in here.” Lance yawns mid sentence, reaching for Quinn. His grip is weak but Quinn goes willingly and Lance clings to him. He sighs with content, “Every time gotta haul you in here, sacrificing beauty sleep…”

He yawns and mumbles at the same time and Quinn knows Lance will fall back asleep, “Quinn apologizes for interrupting beauty sleep. Lance sleep now, Quinn will remain and ensure right amount for beauty has been met.”

Lance chuckles, soft and quiet as he slips back into sleep, clinging to Quinn like a pillow.

Lance is too kind and Dollmaker too cruel. Quinn weighs the facts and knows that kindness will inevitable drown.

Quinn thinks and decides that can not happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cosu finished their kinktober and just bless them, such good stuff, helped me find motivation to wrap up this chapter cause it was high key avoiding me and the plot im trying to shove down its throat
> 
> up next: fingers get broken


	7. Sales Pitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayee, its your boi 
> 
> back at it again with the inconsistent uploads 
> 
> s8 killed me for all of December

Lance wasn't sure what to expect as they were escorted to a comet. Dollmaker had said the auctions were held inside of one so he expected some dark craggily cavern, maybe low lighting and rows of bodies and organs lined up like a market.

What he didn't expect was the suite-like room they were brought to.

One of the walls was a massive glass pane with an unobstructed view of space, debris of planets and distant stars decorating the view. In the far distance he can see the main core of the abyss, flares of blue clashing with green.

Lance would have dragged a chair and stay rooted to the spot but Dollmaker had different plans.

Quinn guided him off to be bathed, lathered in sweet fragrances that reminded him of the ocean and waterfalls. His fingers worked a lotion into Lance's skin that left it feeling soft and glowing.

“What's the occasion?” He asked as Quinn led him out of the washroom, using a towel to dry his hair while he air dried the rest of him.

“I want you to look your best,” Dollmaker said, beckoning Lance to him. Hands on him, Lance was guided into tight black sleeves that wrapped around his back and looped between his thumbs, leaving his chest exposed. The black leggings he was given clung to him like a second skin, hanging low on his hips. A hand tilted his head up by his chin, struck still by Dollmaker's gaze as another pair of hands clasped delicate blue jewels around his neck.

Quinn handed Dollmaker a cloak, identical to the Quinn and Dollmaker wore; black with gold trimmings along the hem. It was draped over his shoulders, held back by a golden broach in the shape of Dollmaker's skull head.

“The clientele here will keep their hands to themselves but occasionally some will make mistakes. Break their fingers if they touch you.”

“Uhh… is this a place where I'm gonna be breaking fingers left and right?”

Dollmaker chuckled, “The emblem you wear will signify you as mine. While I may no longer oversee the operations here, my influence carries weight. Only the foolish will suffer broken fingers.”

 

* * *

 

A low bass thumped throughout the walls of the spacious lounge Lance found himself in. There were other patrons sitting at the bar and tables, the soft murmur of conversation humming in the air. Lance kept himself glued to Dollmaker's side, feeling overwhelmed at the amount of people in one place. After spending months with only them and Quinn, Lance was left feeling a little jarred.

As they walked further in, robotic servers with trays of drinks and food passed by, stopping at tables to drop them off or pick stuff up. All kinds of species were gathered around tables or at the bars but Lance gave a second glance at others who were standing near the tables or kneeling on the floor.

Some wore collars with leashes, dressed vastly different from the other patrons; either completely naked and provocatively dressed. As they walked through the floor, he spotted other in cages, blindfolded and bound as they were displayed. There were a few circular tanks of water, mers watching from within, jewelry glinting off their bodies.

Eyes were on them as they walked and Dollmaker led them to a private corner that was roped off. A server bowed as Dollmaker approached a round table, a galra in military gear already seated.

“Dollmaker, I heard you were coming. It's been awhile.”

Standing behind him was an alien Lance had never seen before. Slender limbs and lithe frame, androgynous features, and probably a head taller than Lance, they remained still as Dollmaker took a seat beside the galra. Quinn walked over to stand behind Dollmaker and Lance made to follow but an arm pulled him back, holding him beside Dollmaker.

A hand squeezed the base of his neck and Lance shivered, leaning into their touch.

“It has been some time. Mers seem to be in stock and I am running low on parts. Beautiful creatures yet delicate and unyielding towards drastic modifications.”

The galra rolled his eyes, “I'm never going to understand that hobby of yours. Why not leave them as is?”

“Relyx, we have had this disagreement before. The outcome of this conversation will not change.”

Relyx grinned, a feral smile as he grabbed the chin of the alien beside him and yanked them closer to the table. They barely flinched as they leaned against the table. Looking closer, Lance could see a shimmer to their skin, glinting off the low light that hung above the table.

“Unaltered perfection. I found this one in a rebel squad trying to take down one of my stations. Once her squad was killed, I took my time training and breaking her in. My word is her world now; absolute obedience.”

“What of her personality?”

“Personality?” Relyx scoffed, “My pets don't need anything as bothersome as that. That leads to trouble. Her will is mine to control and anything else is an inconvenience.”

“This is where we differ. A pet trained in absolute obedience might as well be as plain and uninteresting as the dead.”

“You wound me, Dollmaker. It's better to have absolute control rather than letting an ounce of free will give them grand ideas.”

“That speaks more of a lack of proper training than free will.” Relyx eye twitched, a hint of annoyance crossing his face before he reigned in his expression. “Lance, will you indulge me for a moment?”

Lance had vaguely followed the conversation, eyes closed and more focused on the gentle pressure of their fingers on around his neck when he was called.

“Huh, yes, what?”

Relyx squinted his eyes, glaring at Lance, “And what is that?”

“Lance, a former paladin of Voltron before I took him away to serve -”

“Wait, wait, _wait!_ He's a paladin?”

“Former.”

“...Dollmaker, why haven't you turned him in to Zarkon? He’s been looking for them for several movements.” He asked, speaking in a whisper.

“My loyalties are to myself. I do not keep tabs on what the empire or Zarkon do with their time or what they seek. What Lance was matters not, it is what he has become that matters.”

Relyx leaned back in his chair, “I forget how insane you actually are. Well, what is he then? I thought the paladins were human.”

“Correct. Lance has undergo a few modifications to better fit my image,” A tap to his chin and Lance opened his mouth, baring his fangs. “Minor cosmetic changes to the eyes, teeth, and ears. Strength augmentations, functional claws on his hands and feet, genital castration and organ modifications are the major changes.”

“TMI,” Lance hissed, face turning red as he glared at Dollmaker.

“Apologies,” They said in a amused unapologetic tone. “Shall we proceed with our usual bet?”

“Let's go,” Relyx said, grinning as he shoved off the chair and grabbed his pet, barking orders to it.

Dollmaker sighed, “The fool is too eager as always. Well, Lance, indulge me a bit further for a moment. Relyx likes to wager his pets against mine. Normally, it stops at first blood drawn but killing it would be preferred for tonight.”

Quinn shifts and it goes unnoticed as Dollmaker pulls Lance close, cradling his face between a pair of hands. Lance breathed slowly, leaning into the touch, “That's more than broken fingers, y'know.”

“It certainly is,” there was a hint of a smile to their tone a finger caressing the black mark around his neck. “Nonetheless, Relyx needs to be made humble. Kill the poor thing, there is no meaningful life in being made mindlessly obedient.”

 

* * *

 

Lance shakes and the dagger he clenches falls to ground.

Relyx's pet is on the ground, fatally wounded but not dead and the crowd around the pit breaks into mutters. Quinn walks through the crowd, jumping over the rail and into the shallow pit. Lance doesn't notice him until Quinn takes his hand, startling him away from his thoughts and Quinn is surprised to see tears welling in the corners of Lance eyes.

“..I.. Quinn.. I…”

His voice trembles and breaks and Quinn pulls Lance towards him, gathering him up in his arms. A wounded bubbly gasp catches his attention down on the ground, blood staining the once beautiful skin of Relyx's pet.

Quinn walks over and crushes its’ throat with one swift stomp.

It's easy to find the Dollmaker afterwards, they hadn't left from the table and as Quinn gets closer, the trembling from Lance gets worse. He's nearly shaking by the time Quinn stands next to the Dollmaker, Lance's claws digging deep enough into his shoulders to bleed.

At least they were Quinn's shoulder and not Lance's own.

“Lance not injured. Worried. Panicked. Lance can not kill.”

“Lance, would you look at me?” Dollmaker spoke, voice a deep tenor that verberted through them. Lance shifted in Quinn's arm, fear spiking through him as he lifted his head to look at Dollmaker.

Fear and shame, coiling and slithering along Lance's skin like a disease emits from him but Lance held Dollmaker's gaze. Quinn ached to leave the lounge and get Lance alone to calm him.

“Perhaps I may have overlooked a critical step in your training. Is Relyx's pet dead?”

“I… I don't know…”

“Lance left it dying. Wounded and suffering. One crushed its throat.”

The shame spiked, disappointment making Lance tense and curl smaller in Quinn's arms. Dollmaker was silent in their observation.

“Have you killed before I found you?”

“No...”

“With Voltron?”

“I.. I'm not sure. The fight between Voltron and Zarkon is a war, and there are casualties in war but… If I could help it, I would aim to incapacitate rather than kill with my sniper.”

“And with a weapon such as that, it provides a great deal of disassociation from the act. I understand, taking a life is never easy. Especially for one such as you.”

“I can do better! Next time…! I won't disappoint…”

“Do not fret, Lance. I have no doubt that you will not disappoint. This oversight is on my lack of understanding. For now, One will take you back to our room. _Sleep and rest._ ”

Quinn feels Lance go limp in his arms, the tension cutting away like a taut string breaking. There were slight bags underneath his eyes that Quinn hadn’t noticed up until now. Quinn held him closer as Dollmaker reached out to pet Lance's head.

“How is he?”

Quinn pressed a hand to Lance's forehead and listened to the lingering feelings Lance felt, “Fear and shame weigh his mind. Afraid to disappoint, does not want to let Dollmaker down. Lance… scared.”

“Of?”

“Rejection. New task towing hard on Lance.”

Dollmaker hums, looking down at Lance. They run a hand along Lance’s cheel until they have it loosely wrapped around his neck, gently pressing against the mark on Lance’s neck. Lance squirmed in his grasp, a soft breathy moan escaping him before Lance settled down again.

“The plans I had will have to wait then. One, you will stay with Lance and keep track of his health while we are here. I will have Four handle the auctions.”

“Demonstrations?”

“I will handle that. I will have the slaves exchanged with sentries so that Lance can show his best without hindrance.”

Quinn paused, lightly squeezing Lance before he spoke, “And Claim? Lance perform?”

“Naturally. Whether he performs alone or not is up to you.”

 

* * *

 

_“No matter what, do not interact with Lance, the Dollmaker, or the faceless one. Kolivan's inside guy will hack into their system and give Pidge access to everything. We can't act rash.”_

_“What if-”_

_“No,” Shiro's voice is stern, cutting off Hunk's question. “We can't act right now, not with too many unknowns. Our best chance is to stick with the plan we have.”_

Keith has never hated a plan more than this one. Amongst the crowd that had gathered around a raised platform, Lance leaned against a bar, dressed in silks that seemed more decorative than functional and wrapped with jewelry. A stark contrast to what he wore in the pit moments ago, having single handedly taken down a small army of sentries with ease. Aside from a old scar along his abdomen, Lance came out without a scratch on him.

Everyone that had scoffed at Lance for his lithe stature and seemingly weak body had their words shoved right back down their throats. Now, eyes were on him with a different kind of hunger and Keith felt a sense of unease slither down his spine.

“Shiro… I don't like the looks of this.”

Beside him, Shiro gave a terse nod. They wore masks similar to the blades but Keith didn't need to look at Shiro's face to know what kind of expression he wore.

He could feel the anger and anxiety roll off him, “Me neither.”

They watched as the Dollmaker reached to pet Lance, earning a smile as they began to talk to the crowd about Lance.

About the enhancements made to Lance. A tap to his mouth and Lance opened his mouth as the Dollmaker talked of cosmetic changes. The faceless one pried open the mouth of the unnaturally still human beside Lance, displaying his lack of fangs. With each explanation and comparison, Keith felt sick to his stomach.

“What the _hell_ is the point of this?”

“A sales pitch,” Kolivan spoke from Keith’s earpiece. “This is what the Dollmaker is known for.”

Lance looked completely at ease on the platform, obliging with the Dollmaker to show off his changes. He didn't resist, not even when Lance braced himself against the bar in front of him, back arched and rear towards the crowd. The Dollmaker leaned in close and they couldn't hear what they said to Lance but Lance became red in the face, a look of adoration in his eyes as one of the Dollmaker's hand palmed his rear. Fingers skimmed underneath the silk and two sunk into Lance, head thrown back at the sudden penetration.

A shuddery breath held the audience attention, the Dollmaker's hand pulling away after a few hard thrust, fingers coming away slick, “A simple organ modification to correct the lack of sexual self-lubricant in male humans. A simple fix for any species lacking this feature.”

There were murmurs amongst the crowd but it might as well been white noise to Keith. He couldn't peel his eyes away.

“One.”

The faceless alien, One, handed the human to the Dollmaker before making his way to Lance. They towered over Lance's bent form and when Lance looked over his shoulder, he smiled reassuringly. Turning back to the Dollmaker, Lance beckoned them close, the smile replaced with a stern look. It was such a familiar expression and it hurt to see it again, in a place it definitely did not belong.

The Dollmaker nodded and Lance turned around, reaching up to cup One's head. He reached to the tips of his toes, placing a kiss to One's chin and smiled.

One shook, body trembling as they bowed their head. The room was quiet, an anticipation hanging in the air as Keith and Shiro watched One grew taller, the sound of bones cracking punctuating the room. The red hue to its skin darkened and its head split open into four, a tongue lolling forward between the lower two pieces of flesh covered in jagged teeth.

Lance didn't so much as flinch. He reached behind to pet the back of One’s head, talking to it as it finished transforming.

One gurgle, trembling as it grabbed Lance's waist and forced him back around. Lance braced his arms against the bar and suddenly, Keith and Shiro knew where this was going and they couldn't _stop it_.

Lance shouted as One forced their way in, a clawed hand guiding Lance to take it all. There were whistles from the crowd as One fucked into Lance. He bottomed our completely and Keith could see Lance stomach distend slightly. One gripped the back of Lance's head and tilted it back, shoving its long tongue down Lance's throat.

“Keith… don't.”

Shiro's hand was on his wrist, stopping him from reaching his blade. It took an insurmountable amount of will and strength to let Shiro guide him away from the room before he did anything that could jeopardize the mission. They had infiltrated the auction in hopes to gauge if Lance could be persuaded to leave if they managed to find him on his own.

Not only was he constantly by the faceless alien's side, Lance had shown no signs of unwillingness. He was there of his own accord and nothing short of kidnapping would pry Lance away from the Dollmaker. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: Quinn speaks up


	8. Improvement/Degradation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually made the month mark, i think? 
> 
> kh3 came out so naturally, i needed to binge it and sob afterwards (im still sobbing)
> 
> today's outfit is brought to you by [itchy balls and T.M Revolution](https://visualioner.com/2014/05/11/watch-t-m-revolutions-commercial-for-itchy-genitals-treatment/)

With two sentries in front of him and three behind, Lance is cornered.

At least seemingly so. But Lance grins, almost laughs at how easy his win will be. So easy. It takes little effort incapacitating the two in front, sparks flying from their chest as Lance ripped out the inner workings of one and tears off the head of the other. The back of his neck tingles and he ducks as a glowing sword swings where his head was seconds ago.

A sweep of his legs and the attacking sentry fell to its knees. Lance took the opportunity to steal its sword, baring it down through its chest and swung it upwards, bits of metal flying from its torn open chest.

Taking out the last two were easy, bits of metal scattered around the ground, bodies sparking and twitching and Lance had not a single scratch on him. Standing tall in the center of the shallow arena, Lance scans the crowd and immediately focuses on Dollmaker. A swell of pride fills him, pinned by their stare, the brand itching to have their fingers on his neck so they can feel that pride.

A cough catches his attention and Lance glances down to see the face plate of one the sentries crack, pieces falling to the side until a familiar face looks up at him. Blood leaks from the armor, body twitching with the last vestiges of life. Once glimmering skin is now pale, lips dry, tear streaks dyed pink with blood.

Lance blinks and he’s suddenly standing over the once beautiful pet of Reylx’s. There’s pain in her eyes, a fatigue that feels familiar and tugs on him. The sword in his hands turns into a dagger and she waits.

She waits and her lips part slowly, “Will you kill me?”

Her voice is surprisingly clear despite the wounds. Lance pales, his steady breath faltering.

“Can you kill me?”

Lance clenches the dagger, tries to steady it in his palm but he can’t stop the trembling.

“I… I…” The words he want to say can’t leave him. The pride he felt dwindles into nothing, leaving him cold and empty. Lance can’t feel the gaze of Dollmaker and he feels even more alone.

_“Why can’t you kill me like you did to that young boy?”_

Lance wakes up in a cold sweat, scrambling towards the side of the bed to vomit. He hears a startled chirp near him, feels warm hands soothe over his back and for a moment, Lance feels stable. Until the next wave of nausea has him heaving bile. He’s vaguely aware of arms picking him up and he protests because he can fill another wave of sickness, can hear her voice calming asking him to kill her.

Can envision her face and it morphs into the young boy, face streaked with tears and snots as he pleads for his sister. Pleads and begs to unwilling ears because Lance can’t forgive anyone who attacks Dollmaker. Can’t forgive and will not fail.

_‘So why couldn’t you kill me?’_

Lance gags, clinging tight to the body that holds him. His stomach is empty, nothing but bile and acidic stomach juices staining his chest. Her voice echoes in his mind and he wants nothing more than to find Dollmaker, have them focus his mind on anything else.

“Lance. Calm.”

Quinn chirps near him and Lance is soon being lowered into a tub of water, the hot water relaxing the tension built up in his body. It helps but it's not enough, can feel a static feeling cling to the edges of his nerves and Lance starts to feel too exposed.

Until Quinn steps into the water and crowds into his space, rearranging him until Lance his held by Quinn. Pull flushed against Quinn, his arms tight around him, Lance finally remembers how to calm down.

“Lance okay?”

“I will be. Just… don't leave yet.” Lance mumbles, clinging tight to Quinn.

“Won’t leave. Lance needs to bathe.”

Lance smiles softly, clinging to Quinn’s clinical side. It’s comforting and familiar and he needs that familiarity right now. He needs a bath and once dressed and presentable, Quinn can take him to Dollmaker.

“Right. I’m gross, bath time it is.”

Lance relaxes bit by bit as Quinn sets about bathing him. Quinn's hands are gentle as always, body pilant as Quinn cleaned him. Oils that smell like the ocean is rubbed into his skin once he's dried.

The outfit picked out for him seemed less like an outfit and more like straps. Or a harness? The white top had three straps snug across his chest, with a connected collar fitted around his neck, low enough that it didn't obscure Dollmakers’ brand. The white shorts were just as tight, the waistline dipping into a low v.

“Dollmaker picked these?” Lance asked, looking at himself in the mirror.

“Yes. Dollmaker choose best outfits for Lance. Dollmaker enjoys various outfits.”

Quinn kneels in front of Lance to slip on thigh length boots then stands to clasp on the black cape, pinned and held back around his shoulders by Dollmakers’ golden broach.

“Lance ready. Sit please.”

Lance sits on the edge of the bed, lifting out an arm out of habit. Quinn comes back with a syringe full of liquid quintessence, barely flinching as he feels the familiar cold sensation rush through his veins. A quick shudder and Lance is on his feet, feeling way more grounded than he did earlier.

“Can you take me to Dollmaker, buddy? I know they told me to enjoy myself today but I rather be near them right now.”

Quinn nods, leading Lance out to the hallway.

The floor they were on was relatively quiet, the rooms spread apart from other guests. Lance hadn’t seen any other people but given that Dollmaker was particular reserved, it made sense they'd stay as isolated as they could. Even on their own ship, its run by a small crew. But it was quiet and it felt like home. As much as he was curious about everything else going on in the auction, Lance wanted the week to end so that they could leave. Just him, Dollmaker and Quinn with their small crew.

Right now, the only thing on his mind was getting to Dollmaker. Lance could feel his nerves start to jitter again, a twitch in him that needed to be settled in a way only Dollmaker could settle. Quinn was ahead of him by a few feet and Lance realized they were walking through the lounge, the music a low hum that vibrated through his bones.

A hand on his shoulder jolted him from his thoughts and in the millisecond it took to realize that Quinn was still in front of him, Lance dug his claws in the arm attached to it, ducking as he hurled the body over his shoulder and on to their back, a knee pressed into their broad chest.

“Don’t _touch me,_ ” he snarled, claws digging through the fabric of their sleeve, scraping against a metallic arm. A knee pressed to their chest and Lance had them pinned, a mantra chanting in his mind.

_Break their fingers, no one but Dollmaker and Quinn can touch me, break break break_

And he couldn’t.

Lance stared down at the masked figure, eyes watering a bit. They were still, body relaxed underneath him as Lance struggled to break, to follow the orders given to him and he couldn’t. They weren’t fighting back. They weren’t trying to pry their arm away from him. They simply laid there, waiting.

“Why…fight... _fight back!_ ”

“Lance. Halt.”

Lance twitched, tilting his head to the side to acknowledge Quinn but kept his gaze on the stranger. He will stay, he can stay.

“I’m sorry if I freaked you out,” the stranger said, their voice mechanically tinged. “I thought you were someone else.”

_Break break break, if they touch, break, break, please_

His hands remained still.

“Lance.” Quinn’s voice is closer, much closer and his hands are on Lance and finally, Lance relaxes, dropping the stranger’s arm. “Stranger no threat. Lance stressed. Dollmaker near, will soothe.”

“ _Please_.” Lance said, unable to take his failure anymore. Quinn guided him away from the stranger, keeping him close and kept a hand clasped around the back of his neck. It helped quiet the static that had grown louder as Quinn lead him out of the lounge.

 

* * *

 

_“What the HELL was that!?”_

Shiro at least had the decency to look shamed as Keith glared at him, mask propped up because what in the serious hell was that? After Shiro had held Keith back the other day, he went and approached Lance himself.

And gotten his ass nearly handed to him. Lance had easily flipped Shiro over and pinned him down but he looked… conflicted. He had watched as that faceless alien knelt by Shiro and a moment later led Lance away.

“I slipped up but maybe that was a good thing.”

“Is that why we're down here?”

“‘You can help. Meet in hangar 1A.’ That's what he said to me before he took Lance away.”

“And we're just going to follow along? Just like that?”

“We'll listen to what he has to say. Pidge has been keeping a track on Lance since she and Regris took control of the system. Lance looks like he has a good relationship with him considering the circumstances.”

“And if it's a trap?”

“We execute our plan ahead of time. Mask down.”

Keith slide his mask down and turned around, standing by Shiro's side as the same faceless alien they ran into walked towards them alone.

“Follow. Talk soon.” Without another word, they turned down a corridor. Keith looked at Shiro and with a slight nod they followed. The corridors they walked through were barely occupied, fewer and fewer workers scattered about until the only sound that occupied them were the sounds of their own footsteps. They didn't stop until the faceless alien tapped open a door that lead to a room filled with empty containers.

They walked further into the room but Shiro and Keith stayed near the door. Keith reached to pull his hood down, finger subtly tapping against his earpiece.

“We have your location.” Kolivan's voice spoke through his piece.

“What do you want?” Keith asked, quick to the point.

They looked at him, or at least, Keith though he was being looked at. It was hard to tell without having a face so Keith glared at where his eyes would probably be. It was unnerving, knowing he was being stared at and yet not really. Their head tilted to the side, regarding Keith a little longer before they looked at Shiro. And gave him the same stare as Keith.

“Quinn notice. Disgust and anger roll off you. For Lance. Sadness. Frustration. For Lance.”

Keith tensed, glare intensifying but he remained where he was.

“Not everyone here is looking to buy.” Shiro said cautiously.

The alien regarded Shiro again, “No. Paladins of Voltron here to rescue.”

This time, they both tensed. Keith reached for his disguised bayard, hand on the handle.

“How do you know who we are?” Shiro asked.

“Quinn notice. Easy to tell apart. Emotions give you away.”

“Emotions?”

Quinn nods, “Quinn can perceive emotions as tangible sensations. Can read emotions. Can read body's history. You are bad at concealing feelings. Especially the small one.”

Keith growls but doesn't move, “So, what now?”

“Quinn… fears.” There's a waver to his voice, one that sounds uncertain. “Lance kind. Lance gives Quinn name. Accepts all of Quinn. Lance is Dollmaker's best. But Lance will break.”

“What do you mean break?”

“Lance kind. Too kind. Dollmaker molds doll to perfection. Lance struggling with new lesson. Killing hurt Lance.”

“I don't understand…” Keith said, trying to piece together Quinn's fragmented sentences.

“Can you tell us what Dollmaker wants with Lance. Why did they target him?” Shiro asked.

“Dollmaker wants best. Lance is best. Made better by Dollmaker. Lance crafted different Doll than Quinn. Made to guard. Made to protect.”

Shiro is silent for a moment before he speaks again, “They're teaching Lance how to kill.”

Quinn nods and Keith thinks back to that video, how Lance had easily ended the life of that alien.

“Lance killed. Killed again. And is breaking Lance kindness. Quinn does not want Lance to break. Lance kind.” There's a tinge of sadness to his voice. Keith moves his hand away from his Bayard and crosses his arms across his chest.

“This could be a trap,” He said. “How do we know this isn't a trap to capture us?”

“Dollmaker not interested in Voltron. Hold hand out.” They ask.

Shiro and Keith look at each other before Shiro holds out his right hand. Quinn approaches Shiro and holds his hand for a silent minute.

“Tainted. Galra druids tempered with body, left scars, too much chaos. Druids leave mess. Dollmaker greatly dislikes druid method of modifications.”

“That's… comforting, I guess?”

Quinn looks to Keith and he slowly holds out his hand. Quinn's hand is warmer than he thought it'd be and again, after a silent minute he looks at Keith.

“Galra halfing. Temperament strong willed. Unyielding. Transformation ability weak. No challenge. Dollmaker has little interest in common cross-breeds.”

“Transformation…?”

Quinn tilts his head to the side and Keith somehow gets the feeling he was told something he should have already known.

“Dollmaker only wanted Lance. Other paladins do not meet criteria.”

“How can we trust you?” Shiro asked.

Quinn takes a step back, head tilted towards the ground in thought, “Quinn not sure. How trust can be proven. Quinn wants Lance safe. Wants kindness to live.” They slowly kneel and bow, arms clutched around their chest as their forehead touch the ground.

“Quinn offers life. Offers death. Offers all that makes Quinn Quinn. Please. Help… me.”

 

* * *

 

“Come here, Lance.”

Lance looked up from the auction proceeding going on at the floor below them. They were in a private room, Dollmaker and Four handling their side of bids and services. The room had a clear view of the stage below where they brought out groups of slaves at a time.

From his understanding, the first couple rounds of auctions were mostly laborers or prisoners. Individual auctions were held later. Lance walked away from the window, heading to where Dollmaker was.

“I have a gift for you but you will need this.” Dollmaker unhooked the dagger strapped to Lance's thigh and handed it to him. Lance looked down at the dagger, confused about why he would need it. Dollmaker led him into the adjoining room.

Four was standing beside a group of prisoners, keeping the group in line. Lance stuck close to Dollmaker, unsure of what was going on.

“Four.”

Four nodded and grabbed one of the prisoners, leaving the others chained together to the wall. Lance blinked as Four brought the prisoner to stand in front of Lance. They stared down at the ground, still and obedient.

“What's going on? Dollmaker?”

“You are going to take their lives,” they said as they stood behind Lance. A pair of hands guided Lance's hands together to grip the dagger. “The lives of others do not matter. Their existence means nothing. If a life poses an hindrance towards completing your task then you eliminate them.”

“I…” Lance tried to assure them that they could complete a task, but he failed to kill Relyx's pet and he remembered the hesitancy he felt over the boy who tried to attack Dollmaker.

_“Look at Lance.”_ Dollmaker talked to the prisoner and their body jerked, head lifting to settle a fearful gaze at Lance. _“Stay silent.”_

“Do not look away, Lance.” Dollmaker said as they guided Lance's hands towards the prisoners’ chest. The tip of the dagger pressed against their chest. “Your first lesson will be to familiarize yourself with the act of killing.”

“No no no, please!” Another prisoner shouted, rattling her chains in a desperate attempt. Like the prisoner, they were humanoid with features and skin resembling that of a snake. “Aren't.. aren't you a paladin!? I remember you! You helped my colony and saved us! Please, please spare him!!”

Faster than Lance could keep track of, Four flickered by her side and grabbed her by the throat, slamming her back against the wall.

“No one told you to speak. Dollmaker?”

Dollmaker straightened up, glancing between the prisoner in front of them and the one who shouted.

“You knew Lance as he was before, imperfect and stagnated as a paladin. You will have the highest honor of helping us improve Lance.”

Dollmaker moves away, taking a hold of her from Four's grip, removes her chains and presents her to Lance as if she were a gift.

“ _Kill her_.”

Lance stops thinking and lets his body listen to Dollmaker’s command as screams fill the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: paladin and friends to the rescue


End file.
